


The Spirits that Guide Us, Part I

by thegrumblingirl



Series: What I want and what I need are different things. [1]
Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: F/M, M/M, past Bobby/Shelly, past Dale/Annie, pre-relationship Dale/Audrey, pre-relationship Gordon/Shelly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-04
Updated: 2012-08-04
Packaged: 2017-11-11 10:05:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 44,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/477366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrumblingirl/pseuds/thegrumblingirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dale is trapped in the Lodge - can his friends get him out in time? And can he finally forgive himself? Post-series, post-movie. Rating for later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Sheriff Harry S. Truman sat in his office, absentmindedly spinning half-circles in his chair, tapping the armrest with a pencil and staring into nothing. He was due to meet with Doc Hayward in a few minutes, discussing none other than Special Agent Dale Cooper. Specifically, the agent's behaviour after his return from the Black Lodge — he wasn't quite the same, and, well, no-one would have expected him to be, but there was something about him that made Harry downright queasy. Something that reminded him of the darkness that lurked out in those woods. The Sheriff had spent too much time fighting that darkness to pass it off as a freak of perception or paranoia; and he wasn't the only one feeling it.

He had called the rest of the Bookhouse Boys together the night before, and they'd agreed that something needed to be done, and soon; that was why Harry had taken Doc Hayward into his confidence. None of them could shake the feeling that Annie was still in danger, and that Dale had more to do with that than was obvious. While Coop had given them no direct cause to be suspicious — after all, being a bit off after a visit to the Lodge wasn't anywhere near surprising — they still kept a close eye on him, and what they saw they didn't like: his mannerisms they'd become so used to seemed off, as if he suddenly had difficulties maintaining the quirky side of his personality; and more than once something a lot like rage shone through. That was the point that irked Harry most: after a proper disaster, the FBI agent was quick to snap back to being perky, but ever since Windom Earle had turned up again, his spirits had lagged behind, and after a catastrophe such as this? No, his countenance seemed forced, and the Dale he'd known would have been too honest to pretend to be fine, no matter what he had experienced in the Lodge. So, then — what happened to him?

Doc Hayward chose that moment to knock and shake the Sheriff out of his musings. He closed the door behind himself, sat down across from Harry, and came right to the point.

"You were right, Harry. After closely watching Dale for three consecutive days, I can confirm that there is something more than a bit wrong. He seems to be out of it for hours at a time, seemingly uncomfortable in his own body, and then he's back to normal for another few hours, lather-rinse-repeat without an end. And there's, erm, something else I have to tell you..."

At the Doc’s uncomfortable expression, Harry leaned forward in his seat. “What is it, Doc?"

"Well, I know you said no-one else was to see him, but, erm… The point is, I took Sarah to see him."

"Sarah? Sarah Palmer? Doc, what the hell—"

"No, Harry, listen to me.“ Doc Hayward raised a placating hand. "I admit, I did it on a hunch, but it turned out to be a good idea. Even if the result chilled me to the bone to start with."

"You're not going to make me guess, are you?" Harry's patience was wearing thin, but he knew the doctor was too careful to do something like this without at least three good reasons. Or so he hoped.

"Alright, here it is: Sarah is, as you know, what most benevolent-minded would call 'gifted.' I took her in to see Dale and asked her to concentrate on what she might pick up from him; in much the same way that you said you sensed a bit of the darkness about him. And, well — she said he reminded her of Leland."

"No."

"I'm afraid so."

"Is Sarah sure? I mean, he was in the Lodge, she might have —"

"I also took her to see Annie and the Major, and neither of them caused the same reaction in her. And she specifically said Cooper reminded her of Leland when he was… having one of his episodes."

Harry buried his face in his hands.

"What are we gonna do, Doc?"

"Well, for starters —"

A knock sounded at the door, cutting the doctor off mid-stream. He and the Sheriff looked at each other and, doing his best to look relaxed, Harry called to enter. When Audrey Horne poked her head in through the door, he drew a surprised breath.

"Ms Horne?"

"I'm sorry, Sheriff — Doctor Hayward — I hope I'm not disturbing you, I… I need to talk to you both."

"No, please, come in and have a seat. What's goin' on?"

Audrey took off her coat and sat down next to the doctor. She fidgeted for a bit, avoiding both men's eyes, and they gave her the time she seemed to need.

"It's about Special Agent Cooper. I was discharged from the hospital today, and before I left, I decided on a whim to visit Annie. Not that we were close or anything, but… just to see if she needed something. I'd been with her for about ten minutes when Agent Cooper came in and — I don't know, but Annie had seemed alright before, and then she suddenly started to shake. She seemed really frightened all of a sudden, and she wouldn't let him touch her. I mean, she didn't shove him away, but I could see her flinch when he came too close."

"How did Agent Cooper react, Audrey?" Doctor Hayward asked, leaning slightly forward.

"He acted like he didn't notice. He didn't intrude into her personal space too much, but he kept reaching out to her. And he seemed fine at first, but… you'll probably think I'm seeing things, but there was something wrong about him. It didn't feel right. This was the first time I saw him since the contest, and… Look, I know… I knew him pretty well, we'd grown close, and this Dale Cooper is just not… him. You do believe me, don't you?"

Harry answered her pleading look with a searching one of his own, and he found that he believed her without so much as a twist in his gut. Benjamin Horne's daughter had matured greatly, especially over surviving that explosion that killed Andrew Packard — again — and, sadly, Pete Martell. Besides that, Dale had told him about the bond they had forged, and he knew that the agent trusted her and valued her observations, no matter how up-in-the-clouds she was sometimes. Doc Hayward cut in then.

"Audrey, of course we believe you. To be honest, we're quite worried about Agent Cooper as well. Was there anything else that you can tell us about that visit?"

"Yes, yes, there is! I didn't want to leave the two alone, so I stayed until after Agent Cooper had to go, and that was when Annie turned to me and… She said she'd told you that she didn't remember anything about what happened in the Lodge, right?"

"That's right," Harry supplied.

"Well, she told me that there was something, and that she couldn't keep it to herself any longer. She would have called you, but, well, I was there, and she saw how worried I was, so I guess she just jumped at the opportunity… she said that when she was in the Lodge, she had something like a vision. She was so desperate she kept reaching out, and suddenly she found herself looking at Laura."

"Laura? But how—"

"No, please let me explain. Agent Cooper told me about those messages the Major intercepted, the 'The owls are not what they seem' and someone calling his name over and over? I'm guessing that what happened to Annie must have been something like that, because she said she could feel she was still lying on the floor of the Lodge in a dress that didn't belong to her, but she was also lying next to Laura on her bed, trying to give her a message. The message was: 'My name is Annie, and I've been with Laura and Dale. The good Dale is in the Lodge, and he can't leave. Write it in your diary.' Did you find anything like that in Laura's diary?"

Harry and the Doc stared at her for a bit, but then Harry snapped out of it.

"Well, no, we haven't, but we haven't found all of it, there were pages missing, perhaps she wrote it on those. Or maybe it's in code."

"Didn't she also have a secret diary, the one that Harold Smith had in his possession?"

"Yeah, she did, but I doubt she'd put it in there. After all, she gave it to Harold so that neither he nor the diary would ever be found by her father, or, rather, Bob; or us, in case something happened to her. So it should be in her "official" diary. If she actually took it seriously."

"I think she would have. Sarah wasn't the only one with strange dreams, Laura had them, too."

"But, even if you don't find it," Audrey cut back in, "if Annie remembers that much but nothing else, that's important, right? I mean, I suppose she did it because she wasn't sure whether she'd make it out of the Lodge alive; and… it's still enough to go on, isn't it?" she finished, her tone challenging.

Harry and the Doc pondered that for a minute before the latter spoke up.

"Harry, we should bring the Major in on this. He knows more about the Lodge than any of us, and he might be able to help with this vision of Annie's."

"You're right." He punched a button and talked to Lucy on the intercom, "Lucy, can you get me Major Briggs? I need to talk to him."

"Uh, actually, Sheriff, I was about to call you — Major Briggs, he's here. He's asked to see you."

Harry and Doc Hayward shared a look.

"There's just nothing ordinary about this place, is there," Harry sighed, before answering Lucy. "Tell him to come right in; we need to talk to him, too."

Half an hour later, they had brought Major Briggs up to date on the situation. He was leaning against the window sill, staring out into the rain, and it was a while before he spoke.

"Gentlemen, Ms Horne. You know that I have certain responsibilities and that I am extremely cautious about what to reveal, even in your confidence, Sheriff. However, I have helped you in this manner before, and you have given me no cause to regret it. Therefore — yes. Having considered everything you have relayed to me just now, I must tell you that there seems to be substantial cause to worry. Also, Ms Horne, you were right: I have been to the Lodge, and I couldn't remember a thing. If Ms Blackburn remembers this, then it must be significant. And while I do believe that your team should have another look at Laura Palmer's diary, I think this statement is enough to warrant an investigation. I have met Agent Cooper myself repeatedly over the last few weeks, and I must confess that I was… distraught by his presence."

"What would you suggest to make sure and, if necessary, get Coop out of there?"

"Well, if there is something like a "bad" Dale out here with us, and if Sarah Palmer feels reminded of her late husband, then it is up to us to construct a plan; a plan by which we can capture the spirit called Bob in Agent Cooper's body, and get him back to the Lodge. However, that's just about as much as we can do for him. The Agent Cooper trapped in the Lodge will have to make sure that he is ready. I'm sure Deputy Hawk has explained to you that the Black Lodge can be seen as a waiting room for souls, that souls with imperfect courage cannot move on. Agent Cooper is not dead, there is no reason for him to move on, so we should be capable of getting him out; but he has to make an effort to perfect his courage to reunite — salvage, if you will — the two parts of his soul that were separated. We cannot help with this undertaking, and I do not know whether there is anyone in the Lodge who might help him."

"How will we know?"

"Since Agent Cooper must somehow be tied to the Lodge, it should suffice if we monitor him closely and watch out for any changes in his behaviour; or anything else going on around us."

"What about Annie?"

"No-one else must know that Ms Blackburn remembers anything, or it will put her in even greater danger. If it is Bob inhabiting Cooper, then he knows she's a threat to his cover. We must not, under any circumstances, give him any reason to suspect that we distrust him, which makes keeping tabs on him and the girl even more difficult."

"What if we managed to nudge Norma into going away with her for a while? If Cooper needs to maintain his cover, then he won't be able to protest that Annie has a legitimate need to get away from what happened, and recover in safety."

The Major nodded carefully, and stepped closer to the desk.

"That might work, yes. But apart from that, we must be patient."


	2. Oh, Little Audrey, Call Me Dale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dale visits Audrey, and everything is going to hell in a handbasket.

Audrey was in good spirits this Tuesday morning: there was only mild scarring left on her body where the shards of steel blown across the vault had clawed into her skin, and she was looking forward to going back to work next week. For now, the doctors had prescribed rest and quiet; and she gladly complied. She was just about to settle down in the sofa with a cup of coffee and the latest reports on ‘Ghostwood,’ when a knock sounded on the door. Audrey sighed — so much for the rest.

“Who is it?” she called. She wanted to know who was disturbing her before even thinking of moving.

“It's me, Dale. Audrey, can I come in?”

Damn. Now, who would've ever thought that Audrey Horne would resent tall-dark-handsome Dale Cooper's presence? Well, easy. Those who knew she suspected him to be Bob in disguise, that's who. And, so far, that was on a good day. Still, she answered.

“Sure, just give me a minute.”

On her way to the door, she picked up a cardigan and put it on — she wasn't generally self-conscious about them, but she wouldn't let Bob see those scars. With her hand on the doorknob, she drew a deep breath and put on a smile. Then, she opened the door to reveal Special Agent Dale Cooper, grinning widely.

*********

The Lodge lay still once more, no souls lurking about to tempt those who'd entered. Except for two who couldn't leave.

He looked tired and drawn. She'd seen him old before, but he looked much worse now. He was slumped over in the chair he'd sat in before, with his face in his hands. His breathing was slow and deep, but she could tell it was forced — sometimes, a ragged little sob broke through. Dale Cooper's soul — what was left of it — was strangling itself, and Laura Palmer didn't know what to do. The others had left, they were alone now. The Man from Another Place had said only one thing before he left: “You must help him to perfect his courage, and in turn let him look after you.”

*********

“Hi!”

“Good morning, Agent Cooper,” Audrey smiled, keeping her voice level to mask her discomfort. The same way she'd used to to hide her feelings for him from the outside world and, occasionally, from the agent himself. “Please, come in. To what do I owe this visit?”

Stepping past her into the living area, making a beeline for the sofa and matching armchairs, he replied, “Oh, I just wanted to see how you were doing. We haven't seen each other in a while, and I thought we should catch up a bit.”

Audrey closed the door behind her.

“You're right, it's been a while — would you like some coffee?”

“I'd love to, yes, please!”

She got the pot from the kitchen, along with another cup, sat down across from him, and poured it out. He took a sip and smiled.

“Very good coffee, Audrey. Now, how are you recovering? I didn't have a chance to really talk to you at the hospital. It was very kind of you to visit Annie, by the way.”

Audrey hesitated, measuring her words. “It just felt like the right thing to do. I guess you don't have much time to be with her?”

“No, not really. What with the investigation into Windom Earle's plans, his presumed death, and into what happened in the woods… I don't get away much. Besides, I'm still a bit ruffled, though not as badly as Annie.”

“Yes, you did get better very quickly, didn't you? I heard Doctor Hayward say you should've spent at least a week in hospital.”

“Mmh,” Cooper hummed around another mouthful of coffee. “I must say I was a bag of jell-o rather than bones, but then I perked up.”

“I wish Annie would recover that quickly. I don't know her at all well, but she seemed badly shaken.” Audrey paused for a moment, she knew this was dangerous territory and she had every intention of treading very lightly. “Most of all, she seemed scared. Was that… place you went to so horrible?”

“It was, and worse. Much worse. How do you mean, scared?” Dale, who had been looking at her calmly during their conversation, now leaned forward in his armchair and blinked at her.

“Well, just generally… terrified, I guess. Like children feel the day after a really bad dream. Even if she can't remember anything, I'm sure she still has nightmares.”

“Did she talk to you about her fears?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, fear of someone hiding in the corner, something strange lurking in the dark? Is it that, is she afraid of the darkness? Of the creatures crawling in through the windows?” His face was serious, but Audrey could see his lips twitching as if trying to fight a smile, and she hoped her own terror at the thought of something lurking inside her Special Agent wasn't showing on her face.

“Why are you asking me all that, Agent Cooper,” she tried a more playful, but — hopefully — innocent tone, “are you planning on writing a book on night terrors when you're retired?”

Something seemed to click, because he abruptly sat back and schooled his expression into something less excited.

“No, I just… want to help her, that's all.”

“That is very commendable, but I'm not the right person to ask, am I?”

“She isn't, either.”

“Pardon?”

“She doesn't want to talk about it. Who would?”

“Has she tried talking to Dr Jacoby yet? He might be able to help.” Audrey consciously tried not to bite her tongue or hold her breath, because this was important. Dale had been averse to the idea of letting the resident psychiatrist treat Annie, but it was vital if they wanted to get Annie out of Bob's reach.

“I don't know, he's… well, you know how he is.”

“I know, but he's also pretty much the only one who can handle my brother. And the rest of my family, for that matter… I really think you should give him a chance.”

“But what if he makes it worse? No offense, but I'm not sure how much good he's doing Johnny half the time.”

 _But what if he makes her remember who you really are, you mean_ , she thought.

“Johnny's doing ok. And with Annie — it could only really get worse if she remembers, right? I mean, I know repression isn't healthy, but perhaps it's exactly what she needs. Maybe he just needs to show her how to handle the fe—insecurity,” she quickly corrected herself, “and the rest is getting enough peace to recover physically. Besides, isn't it normal not to remember anything about going to the Lodge? Do you?”

*********

A ripple went through the red curtains that surrounded them, and suddenly Dale Cooper looked up. He glanced around, disoriented, before his eyes settled on Laura, who hadn't moved from her seat across from him.

“Laura?” he croaked. “Why am I here?”

“The way I see it, there are now two of you where there should only be one.”

“You mean — oh, no. I remember that I was running, and I was nearly at the door when something yanked me back. That was… me, wasn't it?”

“I believe so. I'm sorry. I think we call them the Meanwhiles — you met mine, too, didn't you?”

“I did — and your father's. And now I have one, too?”

Laura nodded, and Dale dropped his head into his hands again.

“What happened, Laura? What did I do to Annie?”

Laura frowned. His voice was so flat even as he said this.

“It wasn't you — at least not all of it. That man, Windom Earle, stabbed you in exchange for Annie staying unharmed, and then Bob came, reversed it, and killed him.”

“But I saw Annie on the floor, injured!”

“And?”

“Well, I saw myself lying there, too, but how would I know which part of it was just an illusion?”

“That's not what I meant.”

“Then what?”

“It's alright, we can talk about what you saw later. As for Annie: I don't need to explain to you what kind of damage it might have done to her mind. She is going to be sick with fear. Who knows what the Lodge conjured up to torture her with.”

“Which is exactly what she doesn't need out there. _With me_.”

“There is something, though.”

“What?”

“A safety net.”

*********

“Not much. The Major said it's not unusual not to remember anything. There are only snippets: the curtains outside, Windom Earle standing in front of me — he stabbed me, again, can you believe it? But there's a big gaping hole until the moment I woke up outside.”

“We'll never know for sure what exactly happened in there, will we?”

“I shouldn't think so, no.”

The relaxed tone in which he said this made Audrey's stomach turn. She knew better than to press the matter, but to see the most passionate and inquisitive man she knew with nothing but disinterest for this investigation, any investigation, hurt her heart.

“How did you get yourself into an explosion, anyway? Little Audrey Horne, engaging in civil disobedience…”

Audrey did her best not to bristle — the Dale Cooper she knew would have never called her ‘little.’ He'd never been condescending with her, simply because he was just about the only one who understood how much she hated not being taken seriously.

“Well, I felt that none of it was making a difference, so I tried another strategy.”

“By chaining yourself to the door of a vault?” Where there should have been concern, perhaps incredulity, there was sarcasm. Audrey couldn't meet his eyes. The wrong eyes.

“It would have attracted enough attention, don't you think? Well, if that bomb hadn't gone off; that was a bit too much attention… Anyway, Jack said—” she interrupted herself there. She didn't want to get into that topic, and it probably wouldn't do the situation any good if they did.

“Jack? You mean Jack Wheeler, that young man who works for your father, who left as suddenly as he turned up?”

“Yeah. Did you meet him?”

“I talked to him once about… well, about feelings. He mentioned a girl — oh.” His face darkened. “That was you!”

“He talked about me?”

“Oh, yes, he was very much in love with you, it seemed.”

“Really? What did he say?”

“I don't remember much.” The agent had stopped looking at her and was currently drawing patterns on the chair's arm-rest with one fingernail. “Only the one thing, Audrey, and he was right.” He looked back up, and something had changed in his expression.

“What was it?”

“Love and self-control are a bad match.” There was a glint in Cooper's eyes now, and Audrey wished she could stop herself from asking.

“And what's that supposed to mean?”

“Well, Little Audrey — do you remember that deal we struck?”

*********

“A safety net?”

“Yes. You see — I know Annie.”

“Of course you know her, you must have heard of what happened to her when you were younger.”

“That, too. You haven't found it, then?”

“Found what?”

“My diary entry. About Annie. She left a message for you and your friends.”

“But… how?”

“I don't know, she must have reached out when she saw what happened and when she feared she wouldn't make it out alive. She appeared next to me one night, in a dream. It was only a few days before I died.”

“So she was a vision, like the things I saw, the Giant and those messages the Major picked up?”

“I suppose so.”

“What did she say?”

“‘My name is Annie, and I've been with Laura and Dale. The good Dale is trapped in the Lodge, and he can't leave. Write it in your diary.’ I nearly forgot about it the next day, but I did just before I left.”

“But we went through your diary; I went through your diary at least three times—wait. There were pages torn out, we found them where Bob had dumped them on your cousin; was it on one of those? Or maybe we didn't find all of them…”

“No, he took those before I had the dream; and they were from my secret diary. I'm guessing you found Harold anyway?”

“Well, um… Donna found him.”

“Donna did what? Oh, she could never leave it alone, could she? She and James?”

“I'll explain later. Where's the entry?”

“It is in the diary in my room, unless he took the page after he killed me.”

“No, there was nothing ripped out of that, we would have noticed. But where did you write it down, then?”

“On top of one of my last entries.”

“On top.”

“On top.”

“On top?”

“On top.”

“Laura, how long are we going to keep deconstructing the phrase ‘on top’ until you tell me?” Dale had raised his voice, and there was a dangerous gleam back in his eyes, one she'd always imagined him to have when dealing with renitent suspects. Laura smiled serenely.

“What's so funny?” Ah, again.

“You got angry.”

“Yes, so?”

“You haven't shown much emotion up 'til now, have you?”

“Haven't I?”

“No. You're sad, I can see that in your face, and more than a bit desperate. And you feel guilty about Annie and just about everything else. But none of those feelings are about you, for you. It's how you feel for other people, none of it was selfish. You stayed as flat as a pancake, but when you feel anger, when you don't like being toyed with while interrogating a suspect — that's you. It's the part of you that… got away.”

Dale looked at her for a minute, his mouth slightly agape. He seemed just as confused as a sheep confronted with a dictaphone.

“So, the… out-there me is angry and selfish? Glad to know I made it back there charming as ever.”

“Sarcasm. Good. You're learning quickly.”

“I'm really not learning anything, Laura, much less comprehending. How is this happening?”

“I found a trigger. We'll have to keep looking for them.”

“In order to do what?”

“Not now. We were saying ‘on top’.”

“Yes, on top. What the hell—”

“Magic ink.”

“Magic ink? No, let's not do that again.”

Laura chuckled. “I won't, at least not today. As I was saying: I wrote it on top of another entry in magic ink. I was hoping you'd put it under UV-light.” She sighed. “I'm sorry, but the magic pen was the first thing that fell into my hands when I thought about how to hide it. The message was too long to encode in a single entry, and I didn't have the time to go through the diary and mark every twentieth letter that fit chronologically with a star or something. Besides, he would have noticed that, I couldn't take the risk.”

“Do you think he had another look at it after he killed you?”

“I'm sure. He must have gone back to cover his tracks, he always does.”

“I don't — oh. That's why your mum saw him that morning in your room. She caught him snooping for evidence!”

“Very good, Dr Watson!”

“Hey! Harry's my Watson!” Dale adopted a mock-stern expression. At the memory of that morning, going over evidence, his face split into a grin. Laura smiled.

“Do you feel that?”

Dale stopped short and frowned, but then smiled. “I was happy there.”

“Hold on to that. You're gonna need it.”

***********   
**

“That deal? Which deal?” Audrey feigned ignorance, although she knew exactly ‘which deal’ he meant.

She had been so unhappy, crushed almost, when she'd learned Agent Cooper was due to leave after Laura's killer was discovered. She realized he wouldn't have been able to stay on too long, but, really, where was fairness in all this? She understood why he wouldn't be with her, but how was she to get a hold of him when she was older? Heavens knew where he'd have to go, what might happen to him…

So she'd just had to go and say good-bye, properly, and maybe extract a small promise out of him. But she hadn't dared to dream of what he told her — he had stayed away from her because she was part of the case, rather than because she was too young. She was too young, alright, but, oh so carefully, he'd admitted to wanting her regardless. Only her involvement in the case and possibly putting her at risk had kept him from being more open about his feelings. Audrey had to suppress the urge to pinch her arm.

What then followed, though, was the reason. And while Audrey was glad he told her, because it helped her understand his character, she half-wished she hadn't asked. Most of all, though, she wished it had never happened to him. He had lost the woman he loved because he loved her, hadn't realized that his friend and mentor had been a danger to both of them. Audrey knew how guilt worked, had seen it in her parents, in Laura. She wished she could take some of his pain away, explain to him it wasn't his fault, but she knew that that wasn't what he wanted to hear — and maybe not what he needed to hear, either. He needed to hear about the future. He went on and on, trying not to look back too much, so she decided to tell him something about the future.

‘Well, let me tell you something, Agent Cooper. One of these days, before you know it, I'm gonna be grown-up and on my own. And you better watch out.’

‘OK, Audrey, it's a deal.’

Her heart had jumped as he'd turned towards her, crossed his arms, and agreed. With any other man, she wouldn't have believed it might ever come to pass, but she knew Special Agent Dale Cooper never broke a promise. He'd be there, and whatever happened then would happen.

‘Y'know, there's only one problem with you. You're perfect.’ With that, she'd turned to leave, a Mona Lisa smile on her face and a spring in her step.

Back in the present, Dale was leaning forward again in his armchair, his upper body nearly covering the coffee table. “Oh, you know, Little Audrey. The one where I sweep you off your feet when you're all grown-up and on your own.” Audrey did her best to cover up her discomfort and leaned in, too, to humour him. She had to play along if she wanted to get a better look at what was lurking underneath that Dale exterior.

“Of course I remember that.”

“Did John Justice Wheeler sweep you off your feet, Little Audrey?” He stayed where he was, but Audrey felt the heat from his body encroaching on her, as if he were getting ever closer. His breath grazed her cheek, and she shivered openly this time. Luckily — or unluckily? — for her, he seemed to take this as a sign of pleasure rather than getting the creeps.

“I do wish you'd stop calling me that—”

“What did John Justice Wheeler do to you, Little Audrey? Did he take you away for a picnic? Hmm? Did he… show you a good time?” She could smell the coffee on his breath now.

“I really don't think this is any of your business, Agent Cooper.”

“Oh, Little Audrey, call me Dale.”

“What does this have to do with anything?”

“Well, it's just… you didn't honour our agreement, Little Audrey. You were going to be grown-up and on your own.”

“We didn't say anything about how I'm supposed to grow up. Besides, as you said, he left. And I'm not grown-up yet. You moved on, too, remember?”

“Ah, this is how you want to play it, then? Well… how about we do a bit of growing up together, until I have to leave again. And when I come back, we'll see how grown-up you've become, and maybe then we can take it to the next level?”

Audrey had the distinct feeling that her eyes were widening comically — except it wasn't in the least bit funny. Her eyes roamed over Dale Cooper's face, boyish as ever, yet much darker. Ever since she'd seen him in the hospital with Annie, something about him had struck fear into her heart, but now, as she felt all of that darkness directed at her, she knew why.

“A-agent Cooper,” she stammered, her voice finally giving in to the strain on her nerves, “you know that that's not what we agreed on. And, and there's Annie. You're in love with her, aren't you, you wouldn't just up and leave her.”

“Who said anything about leaving her?” His eyes were looking up and down her body now, and Audrey instinctively gathered her cardigan against her neckline. A grin twisted his lips as she did so.

“You never struck me as the polyamorous type, Agent Cooper. Are you quite sure you aren't still a bit… out of sorts?”

“Well, maybe there are some new things about me — but they're worth discovering, don't you think?” He reached out a hand to cradle her cheek; Audrey gasped and rushed to move away from him, her head almost hitting the wall above the sofa's backrest.

She shouldn't have done that.

There was something openly predatory on his face now, and as he stood up and moved to round the coffee table and advance on her, Audrey wondered whether she'd be better off having been blown to bits by that damn bomb. She whimpered quietly, pushing herself back into the cushions as he came closer, the usually so gentle brown eyes now dark with something that both was and wasn't just lust, a grimace tearing at his mouth. She didn't have the mind to scream, transfixed by what she couldn't believe she was seeing. It was true. That _something_ had taken advantage of him, and was now even more dangerous than before, because it had found the perfect disguise. Perfect until it let the masks slip, until it unfurled the trap and had you where it wanted you. Until it was too late. He was leaning above her now, his head dipping, ready to capture her.

An innocent knock broke through, along with a call of, “Audrey. Audrey, honey, I need to talk to you.” Audrey and Dale whipped their heads towards the sound, and the agent immediately put two feet of distance between them.

“Go on, answer,” he prompted. Audrey swallowed past the lump in her throat, got up as quickly as she could without tripping over her own feet, and complied.

“Come in, Daddy!”


	3. This Is Interesting, Indeed

Audrey's heart was in her throat as her father entered the room, an inquisitive (insincere) smile on his face. A smile that quickly faltered as he caught sight of Cooper standing by her side. She noted how the agent didn't take the usual step away from her, as he'd used to do whenever they'd gotten company. It had frustrated her, but now she longed for it. It made her feel sick to her stomach that, with all the fight she'd immaturely put up, she hadn't realized the Dale she really wanted was the proper Dale — proper in more than one sense of the word — and now that he _was_ overstepping his boundaries, well, it wasn't him. It was wrong because he was possessed (or something) and creepy, obviously, and probably dangerous, of course, but it was more than that. It was, in principle, the closeness she'd always wanted, but from a Dale that was whole and himself, and who freely decided to be with her, even if it meant tossing caution to the wind, not this… _evil_ part of him. Most of all, Audrey was scared that she'd never see her Dale again, and that this might be the last memories she'd have of him; that she wouldn't get a chance to be that close to _her_ Dale.

 _Oh, why won't he just back off_?

“Special Agent Cooper! What an extravagant to surprise to find you here this fine morning,” Benjamin Horne boomed, effectively interrupting his daughter's musings. _Great_ , she thought, _guess what, Special Agent, my dad thinks you're a cad, too, on top of everything else_. She watched as her father grasped the agent's hand and opposite shoulder as great men doing great things for the community were so wont to do, and waited for the inevitable questioning.

“May I ask what your business is, exactly, Agent Cooper? My Daughter is still recovering from serious injuries, and I don't remember you being cleared for field work yet.”

 _There we go_. Audrey doubted that her father's interest in having Cooper out the door as soon as possible was entirely paternal, but she'd have signed a confession to burning down Dr Jacoby's flowerbeds right then if it had just gotten her away from this.

“Well, as you were saying, your daughter is recovering, Mr Horne, and I haven't had a chance to check up on her until now. I couldn't be at the bank to help her — or talk her out of it, for that matter — so I felt obligated to do what I can now.” Dale reached out his arm and draped it across Audrey's shoulder, smiling that smile at her, the one he'd been trying on for size the last few weeks, the one that never reached his eyes no matter how hard he tried. The one that would have been Dale Cooper's innocent, caring smile. He tightened his hand on her arm when she hesitated, so she quickly murmured her thanks and avoided her father's eyes.

“Well, I am moved by your concern, my dear fellow, but I'm sure you understand that Audrey here needs her rest. After I've spoken to her about a few things. In private.”

Demonic alter ego aside, Dale Cooper could still take a hint; so he reluctantly let go of Audrey, giving her a look that promised a continuation of their conversation — _oh, God, I hope not_ — and bid them both good-bye. Audrey's father shut the door on his retreating back and then turned to look at her. She was surprised to see actual concern in them.

“What did he want, Audrey?”

“Nothing much, Daddy, just like he said—”

“Don't give me that,” he interrupted her. He grabbed her hand and led them to the sofa. He sat her down next to him, but at an angle so he could see her face better. “You were frightened just now. Look, I know that there's something suspicious going on with and about him. I've still got my eyes and ears in certain places, and if you want me to… well, do something about it, then…”

“Like what? Put a killer on him, Daddy? Well, for one thing, that isn't going to help much — if Sheriff Truman could just shoot him to fix it, he would — and… I don't want you to interfere. Do you hear that? Don't. Do. Anything. We can handle it. It's important that you stop thinking like a criminal for a while.”

It was a part of her father's new-found charm that he wasn't even offended by that.

“Alright, but if he kills you, you'll wish you had let me.”

Not much, at least.

“Daddy, I'm serious.”

“OK. OK,” he raised his hands in the universal gesture of defeat, but his gaze remained urgent. “Just promise me that you'll talk to me when things get… difficult. Difficult here meaning not-yet-life-threatening.”

“Daddy, I promise. But we'll be fine.”

“Who's we?”

“Dad.”

“What? Am I crossing the Don't Interfere line already?”

“No names, no-one to put a bullet through. And don't you dare get someone to keep tabs on me.”

“You know me too well,” her father sighed. Audrey herself wondered when exactly she'd picked up this way of talking about bullets and murder-for-hire.

“What did you want to talk to me about, Daddy?”

“Oh, just… Ghostwood. Or, rather, Stop Ghostwood. But, that can wait! If you're tired or…,” he chanced a glance at the door as if Agent Cooper could burst back through it any second and wreak havoc on them, alive or otherwise, “creeped out, as it happens, I can come back later.”

“Well, I haven't made it through the paperwork you gave me yet, but it's alright.”

“Good. Uh, well, I wanted to talk to you about our PR strategy…”

*********

“Albert Rosenfield. What a pleasure.”

“Sheriff Truman. Likewise.” Strong arms wrapped around Harry like steel bands. “You know I love setting foot into this burg every time you call. How did you manage to keep Coop out of the loop?”

“I called in a favour with Gordon; he's as worried about Coop as we are, so it wasn't very difficult.”

Albert released Harry from their vigorous, back-slapping hug. “You mean even without telling him the real reason why you're so worried.”

Harry sighed and cocked his head at the FBI forensics expert. “You don't miss anything, I know.”

“Well done, you're drawing conclusions! What is it, then?”

“Come on, let's step into my office.” They walked down the hall side by side, not breaking the silence, which wasn't awkward or uncomfortable for once, just… tense.

“Please, take a seat. Albert, I understand you examined Laura Palmer's diary?”

“I did, but only the parts Coop sent me to the lab, I didn't get a look at the entire thing, especially not at the torn-out pages that you found, I told Coop that that was more than careless—”

“Albert. We know that now. We need you to look at the entire thing.”

“Why? What happened? And where the ever-loving hell is Coop?” Albert looked around the office searchingly, as if Cooper were liable to suddenly appear from behind the cupboards.

“Something happened. You heard about what went down in the woods. Ever since then, Coop has been acting strange…-er,” he amended when Albert raised a brow, “and we didn't know what to do. Then, hints started piling up, and it seems that there is a picture emerging. Coop isn't Coop — something happened to him in the Lodge, and what came back of him isn't… him. Annie Blackburn, the girl he went after, left us a message: Bob did something to him in there, and we have to help him. We don't know what exactly is going on inside the Coop we have out here, but we've got to keep him away from this investigation with both arms tied behind his back.”

“If you've got the message, why do you want me to go over the diary again?”

“The message is in there, it's in the diary, but we haven't found it yet, obviously — I'm sure that Annie told the truth, but we've got to make sure before we make a move.”

Albert sat up a little straighter. “Do you have any idea how much work this is going to be, how many resources I will have to access — under wraps, no less? Coop, possessed or not, isn't stupid, and whatever's possessing him sure as hell isn't either. This is going to take ages to figure out. It might be in the writing, might be a code embedded in her little country girl stories, it might be symbols, stuff stuck into it—”

“If anyone can do it, it's you, Albert.”

The agent pointed an accusing finger. “Don't flatter.”

“Then do it for Coop.”

Albert sighed, but gave Harry a look that he, were he delusional, would describe as fond. “I'm on it. Where do I work?”

“In an old lab in the hospital, we've brought it up to date as best we could; Coop won't have any reason to be there, and we're keeping tabs on him.”

“Tabs? You know he spots a tail faster than the cat sniffs out the canary?”

“Not if the tail is right next to him.”

“Ah. You two on a perpetual boys' night out?” Harry nearly winced — anyone would have run for their lives at the other man's spitefulness.

“Something like that. Most nights it's me, sometimes Ed and the Doc help us out.”

“Alright. Just… be careful, Truman.”

Sheriff Truman nearly stopped in his tracks, but quickly recovered. He was still surprised whenever the hard-nosed, cynical master of the lab broke out the gentle tones. “I will. You go to work.”

*********

For the first time in what was possibly decades, Catherine Martell was truly clueless. Every time there'd been setbacks in the past, she'd had a Plan B, or came up with one with a bit of peace and quiet, but now… Big Fat Nothing. She'd been sitting with her legs curled under her, hands cupping a coffee mug, on the sofa for hours now, and she had nothing. No brother, no stupid husband, just Ghostwood on her hands, a few very confused investors, and Ben Horne on a sabotage rampage. Of course, technically, she was rich now — inheriting a lot of money was convenient. Except she'd inherited from an officially dead man. What with the investigation being on-going, she couldn't access any of it; the mill was a ‘giant weenie roast in the woods,’ after all. Finally, with Josie dead, too, she could do what wanted with the estate and oodles of money — the only problem being that she _really_ couldn't.

The federal bloodhounds hadn't started snooping around in the mill's paperwork yet, but they were all over her sometimes-dead brother's accounts. If they found traces of investments into the mill, or the insurance shenanigans, or if they found out more about her family's ties to Thomas Eckhardt… now that so many murders had drawn attention to them, it was somewhat difficult to sort everything out. They had covered their tracks well, but she hated taking chances. If she wanted to avoid further suspicion, she'd have to wait until everything blew over — or up, right in her face. Since Ben Horne, that son of a bitch of a former lover, had been in cahoots with Josie, there was no way of knowing what kinds of clues she might have left behind to blackmail him with. It was a classic almost-checkmate. She couldn't move without being found out, and if there _was_ a way out, there were too many variables to figure it out. She sighed and dragged her hand across her face.

Catherine mourned her brother, and her husband, no matter how much she'd resented the two for their easy camaraderie in the face of a summer romance that should have never evolved into a marriage. Conflicting feelings weren't her cup of tea. Things had always been pretty clear-cut for her since she'd realized what a mistake she'd made: she wanted money and freedom, and if she could have pleasure on the side, then that was fine with her. She liked moving in the grey areas of the law and morality, but she wasn't one for introspection. Catherine Martell manipulated other people's feelings; she wasn't going to be inconvenienced by her own.

*********

“Please sit down, Agent Cooper. You're making me nervous.”

“I think it's alright if you call me Dale, Laura. We're going to be here a while, aren't we?”

“Alright, then, _Dale_. Please, settle down.”

He sighed, but nodded and complied with her request.

“What are we doing, Laura? What are we supposed to do, anyway, and how?” Some of his liveliness had returned to him, and they had spent a good deal of time — whatever time _was_ in here — working on sharpening his mind again. He needed to focus, and what with his soul being split in two, he needed to, well, find himself, as silly as that sounded. In every soul, there was a balance. The light balanced the darkness, the comedy balanced the tragedy. In Dale, the quirks balanced the broodiness. He wasn't just perky in spite of the job he did and the things he saw every day, it was _because_ of the darkness. The good in him balanced the bad, but the bad brought out the good. He didn't just maintain his humour in the face of horror — he thrived on it. He hadn't managed to defy disillusionment, he'd never had any. He seemed naïve sometimes, but he'd known exactly what he'd gotten himself into when beginning a career in law enforcement. That he was asking this question now was a good sign.

“I must help you to perfect your courage, and in turn let you look after me.”

“That is so extraordinarily helpful,” Dale quipped. Then, his eyes went wide. “Oh.”

“What?”

“I remember your cousin, Madeleine. She appeared before me for a minute, and she told me to look after you. That's nice. To know that everything makes sense — afterwards. So, what do you think it means?”

“Well, perfecting your courage is fairly straightforward, I guess. You felt fear, which allowed Bob to split your soul. It's a test — you need to keep your soul together to pass on.”

“So your soul isn't whole, either? Or Maddie's, or your father's? Goodness, it's getting crowded in here.”

“Usually, all the souls are bound in different places. I guess it's a gift that we get to help each other — someone really likes you,” she teased. Dale remained silent for a minute before answering.

“I see… I've got to help you pass on to the White Lodge by letting you help me perfect my courage before I can get out of here.”

“Why not the other way around?”

“One, because… I'm sorry, Laura, but when you were alive, you were a life ruiner; and you aren't doing so badly in death, either. You lured Bobby into dealing with drugs, you nearly corrupted Donna, you seduced pretty much every man with a pulse — in short, you were a bad, bad girl; no matter that you fought Bob tooth and nail, it still clings to you. You need to _know_ that you can let go of that guilt. Helping me get out might just be half of your ticket upstairs. Also, I think it's because Bob still has a hold over you — all of your family — and that needs to be broken if I want to get rid of him, bind him to this place forever. He could use you, and I'm not going to let that happen.”

“You mean, like he used Annie?”

“Laura, please, don't—”

“Dale. We've danced around this topic for ages, for lack of a better word, and you have to understand that it's key to getting you back together.” Laura was pushing, she knew, but they didn't have all the time in the world to sort this out.

“Why?” He spoke so quietly she could barely hear him.

“Dale. Look at me.”

“Why?” He repeated, refusing to meet her eyes.

“Fine.” Her voice hardened. “Let's do this the hard way. When did you realise you'd fallen in love with Annie?”

*********

“What can I do for you, Sheriff Truman?”

“Dr Jacoby, I'm sorry to disturb you, but it's urgent.”

“Don't worry yourself about it. Sit down and tell me all your troubles.” Harry nodded gratefully, closed the door behind him and sat down in one of the visitor's chairs.

“I'll get straight to the point, Doc — I would like you to treat Annie Blackburn.”

Dr Jacoby showed no sign of surprise. “Why, gladly. Does she want me to treat her, too, or will this involve a court order? Considering the shape Agent Cooper is in, I wouldn't be surprised…”

“No, she's agreed to take sessions with you, but there is something you have to know. We believe that she is in danger; and you'd do us a real favour if you could advise… a relocation.”

“In danger of what? Or, should I say… whom?”

“Agent Cooper, Doc. As you said, he's not in great shape; and we've got a hunch that that doesn't quite cover it.”

Dr Jacoby whistled through his teeth. “This is interesting, indeed. You think he brought something back with him?”

“Worse.” Harry hesitated for a moment, but decided to reveal the full extent of their suspicions. “He left something behind, too. Annie knows, and he mustn't find out, or he'll be out for blood.”

“So you want me to argue in favour of transferring her somewhere to recover — alone, except for the trusted company of her therapist and a few policemen in plain clothes?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, I will have to verify the need for such a procedure by examining my patient, but, considering your own experience with what the darkness can do to people out here, I'm inclined to take your suggestions into account, Sheriff Truman.”

“That's all I could hope for.”


	4. I Failed Her, Laura!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens... or so I'm hoping.

Annie felt, more than saw, the intent look Dr. Jacoby was fixing her with. She knew he meant well and only wanted to help; and she  _had_  readily agreed to let him treat her when Sheriff Truman had suggested it to her, but… now that help was available, Annie shrank away from it. She was reacting the way she had before, again; before she had found new calm in the convent after her suicide attempt. The Lodge, it seemed, had nearly thrown her back into the mindset she'd been in then, and she hated it. (Nearly, not completely—she could still take that step away from her own mind to realize her trouble.) Annie didn't need a psychiatrist to figure it out, but she needed help to solve it; guidance. Needed the doctor to get through to her to accept his help.

"Miss Blackburn—when did you realize you'd fallen in love with Agent Cooper?"

This strange, stocky man seemed to be one of few certified psychologist Annie had met who actually asked the right, hands-on question that, apparently, got her to talk, even though she couldn't have named it as the right one beforehand.

"It must have been that evening when we talked at the bar. I was telling him about my life, and he just listened. He seemed to understand so well, and I felt a connection that I hadn't felt for a long time. It was like through him I could re-connect to life."

"You hoped that he could teach you to see something in the world that might convince you to… well, which is it: stay, or come back?"

Annie gave a short chuckle. She herself didn't quite know how far gone she'd been, maybe still was—had she been trying to find her way back or a reason to stay? Somehow, this seemed important, it wasn't just semantics.

"I don't know, but—yes. I was hoping he might help me find out what's worth it."

"Do you think you would have found it, together? Or…  _did_  you find it?"

"Well, we found  _something_ …"

The doctor smiled knowingly, but refrained from prying for the moment.

"Has he talked to you about anything that was troubling him? Work, or his personal life?"

"No, not really. I got a feeling that he knew exactly what I meant when I told him about my past."

"What exactly did you say to him?"

"I told him that I had failed before and that I was afraid it would happen again. He saw the scars on my wrists and… it suddenly seemed important to tell him." Annie looked up at Dr. Jacoby and caught him giving her an odd look. "What is it?"

"It's just… that parallel is striking."

"What parallel? Between me and Dale?"

"Yes."

"Why, what happened to him?"

"He failed. At least that's how he sees it. I'm sorry I'm repeating myself, but this is important: did he ever talk to you about something personal, something from his past?"

"No, he didn't mention anything that might be troubling him."

"Did you ever try to ask him about himself?"

"I—there was one time when we were discussing… our situation and I did try, but… well." She felt a blush coming on, and silently cursed her own shyness.

"But?" Dr. Jacoby prompted gently.

"We got carried away."

"You had sex?"

"Yes."

"Who initiated it?"

"He did. I didn't feel pressured, Doctor, you don't have to worry—"

"It's not that, Miss Blackburn. That particular point rather makes me worry about Agent Cooper. But that shouldn't concern us now." It would, however, concern Sheriff Truman when he'd brief him later that evening; in the same hullaballoo dance he'd done around his patient confidentiality with Agent Cooper a few weeks ago. The Sheriff had asked him to try and find out a few things about Cooper as well, to try and anticipate what Bob might use to get under his skin.

"Why not, what's going on? You think he'd have sex with me as a distraction? To keep me from asking questions?"

"No, but… to hide his fears from you. Don't hold it against him, though. He wasn't being entirely selfish."

"That's a relief," Annie quipped. She could feel distrust settling in, and the doctor sensed it. He hurried to pull her focus away from disappointment to something equally unpleasant.

"Miss Blackburn, do you think you could talk to me about the nightmares you've been having? About what happened in the Lodge?" This was one of many things the Sheriff and his team had kept carefully under wraps. To keep Annie at least relatively safe from Bob's inevitable reprisals, they'd instructed her to mention nothing but vague, childhood-like bad dreams, steering clear of any imagery that might be associated with the Lodge. Also, she'd been told to continue feigning amnesia—since she'd spoken to Audrey about the message she'd left with Laura Palmer, more snippets had started to come back, causing the nightmares to get even worse and more difficult to hide from the nurses on the nightshift, but she'd managed. She had since been discharged from the hospital and put into private care, which made things easier, though not abundantly safer. That left her with a security detail in front of her door and not many people to talk to.

Annie nodded carefully. "Where do you want me to start?"

* * *

Dale sighed. "When she said, 'I've failed before and I'm afraid it will happen again'. When I saw the scars on her wrists, I… I just felt a kinship there. I knew exactly how she felt, because I'd felt it, too, and still was."

"What did you do wrong that you were so scared of, Dale?"

"Oh, I'm sure you know all about that." Dale had discovered that being in the Lodge for a while had equipped Laura with an uncanny way to look at the past and the future—especially his for lack of any other company. His own senses had picked up on memories and dreams floating around Laura's consciousness, but hadn't managed to hold on to anything so far.

"I might. But you still need to talk about it."

"I failed the woman I loved. I didn't protect her, and she died in my arms. I didn't realize who the killer was until it was too late because I was blinded by love. I fell in love with someone I shouldn't have—not only was she my partner's wife, she was part of the case. I didn't do my job, and that killed her. And, by extension, also killed her husband." Dale's face had drained of colour, and he was back to wringing his hands.

"Did you ever think that maybe it wasn't all your fault? That it wasn't your love that killed her?"

"I failed her, Laura! It's that simple, if you can call it that, and that's what I'll have to live with; no matter if I get my other half back. I fell in love with Annie because I felt she could understand."

"Except you never gave her a chance to understand, did you? You never explained it to her. And, I'm sorry, Dale, but failure is not the real reason why you felt drawn to her."

"And how do you think you can be so sure of that? Reading minds now, too?"

"No, but I'm good at reading  _people_. And when I look at your life, I see something very much not simple.  _You_  are not simple, Agent Cooper."

"What. do you. mean?" Dale demanded quietly, but through gritted teeth.

"I mean that you should know that two wrongs don't make a right, and that you and Annie couldn't have saved each other, not when one wrong is trying to right itself by the other."

"Are you saying I was using her?"

"In some ways, yes. On other ways, no. I told you it wasn't simple, when are you going to start listening?"

"I wasn't using her!"

"Maybe not, but you fell in love with her for all the wrong reasons!"

"What?"

"Whom else have you fallen in love with while you were here?"

"I really don't think—"

"I really do, though. So?"

Dale shifted in his seat, avoiding her eyes. She could see his jaw working, and Laura nearly smiled at what a rubbish lawman this sole half of him would have made. "Audrey. Audrey Horne. And, see? I did it again, I fell in love with someone who was part of a case, and I got her into danger! They nearly killed her at One Eyed Jack's, and it's my fault."

"Have you ever stopped to consider that you were able to save her  _because_  of your feelings for her? Would you have been as tenacious if you hadn't been so worried, would you have gone up there to save her just in time if you hadn't panicked at the thought of losing her? I know you're a caring man, Dale, and I know you'd never leave anyone hanging, but you've got priorities. And where might she have been without you?"

"But if it hadn't been for me, she never would have gone up there, to help me find your killer!"

"Oh, Dale. You always underestimate women's decisions when feelings for you get in the way, don't you?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Audrey went up there by her own choice. I'm not saying it wasn't a stupid idea, I'm not saying she didn't do it to impress you, but she's got her own mind. Same with Caroline. You said you thought she knew the killer. You said you thought she knew it was her husband. Yet she didn't come forward. She was a witness, but she didn't tell you. She could have told you when you were alone, could have ended it all. Gotten both of you out of harm's way. But she didn't. You didn't know Windom Earle was dangerous, you couldn't. He was a psychopath, Dale. I'm not blaming her, she was probably too scared of him, or too firmly under his spell despite how she felt about you; but the point is, I'm not blaming you, either. The one to  _blame_  is her murderer."

"He wouldn't have killed her if he hadn't found out about us! I should have kept my emotions in check, then there wouldn't have been anything to find out about."

"You didn't stop to think that that was just his way of covering his tracks?"

"What?"

"Dale, really? You were the perfect decoy. He probably knew his wife knew about his little hobby. He had to find a way of getting rid of her—and there comes along his adorable young partner with romance in his heart. He set you up, Dale. A crime of passion to cover up a crime of necessity. No matter how ignorant my friends might have been, no matter how often they missed their chance to get me sectioned and into rehab, who killed me was my father, possessed as he was. I got myself into trouble, and I didn't let anyone help me properly, and now I'm dead.  _That_ is simple, Agent Cooper. Blaming yourself for something you couldn't have seen coming is not only not simple, it's wrong. But at least that is the reason for why you fell for Annie."

"But that's what I said! I failed, and that's what drew me to Annie!"

Dale had gone even paler, if that was possible, and seemed badly shaken by Laura's explanation. He must have been buried so deep in his guilt and denial; not to even have considered this… She didn't know whether to pity him or feel insulted on behalf of his intellect.

"Yes, you said that. And it's hot nothing—your uselessly and wrongly blaming yourself, however, is the actual truth."

Dale mutely shook his head, and she could feel him slipping away from her.

"Think about it, Dale. And try to figure out what that means for Annie and Audrey." She tried to catch his eye, but he had withdrawn into himself now, and she know she wouldn't get through to him in that state. Sighing, she got up and left to give him some space; but she stayed close by lest he got into trouble.

* * *

Albert Rosenfield was not a happy bunny. He'd be even less happy if you called him that to his face, but that was beside the point. The point, currently, was that he was putting a serious and possibly permanent crick into his neck and shoulders, sitting on a dingy old chair at a dingy old desk in a dingy old hospital lab that he had to equip with the basic parts of modern code-breaking technology a few nights ago, with help from Sheriff Truman and two of his bumbling deputies.

His face contorted with an angry frown as he ran the next rows and columns through the program, and it came up negative. If this didn't pay off soon, he'd have to x-ray the pages to get anything out of them—he'd been at it for so long the words didn't even look like words anymore. Barring the girl knew some new, fancy, government-developed encrypting method, there was nothing in this diary that encoded anything—except precocious hormones. There were no markings, either, no recurring punctures in the pages to indicate certain letters, no drawings that suggested patterns,  _nothing_.

Albert was just about to get up and make himself a new pot of coffee when as steaming cup of joe appeared next to his right arm. Only now did the forensics expert become aware of a presence behind him, and the warmth of another body creeping into his shoulder and upper back. His eyes followed the hand holding the cup, up the arm, until they landed on the smiling face of Sheriff Harry S. Truman.

"You looked like you were gonna need it," was all he offered, and that was when Albert discovered the Sheriff's way of showing the kindness Albert had given him a speech about not so long ago.

"Thank you," he said simply, but truly gratefully, and took the mug from the other man's hand, unable to resist letting their fingers brush. Just to see if it made him uncomfortable, Albert told himself; but Harry just continued smiling and got another chair from the corner. He sat down close enough to see what Albert was working on, and tilted his head questioningly. "Anything yet?"

Albert took a gratuitous sip before answering. "Nope. I fed the program with everything there is; unless that girl was working for Quantico or Langley on the side, there's literally nothing in there."

Harry sighed and ran a hand over his face. He looked every bit as tired as Albert felt.

"When's the last time you slept, Sheriff? And I mean, properly, not on the sofa at your station, or in the car."

"Um…," the Sheriff had the grace to look sheepish, and it was Albert's turn to sigh.

"Look, surprisingly, that discarded flea-ridden sofa over there is the comfiest thing I've sat on in a while. How about you rest your dirt-stained, merry self on there while I actually get some work done?"

"It's 2am."

"My point exactly. Now, Sheriff, or I'll sedate you."

Harry threw him a funny look, as if trying to figure out whether he would really do that; but apparently decided not to put whatever theory he had to the test, as he stood up and walked over to the sofa. Testing it for comfort carefully with one hand, he tugged off his leather jacket with the other, draping it over the back of another forgotten lab chair. He sat down, and made a small noise of surprise.

"You weren't kidding, Albert. Damn comfy," he confirmed while taking his boots off. Two seconds later, he was on his back, but facing Albert, stretching and yawning languidly. "So," he continued, "what else is there left to work on if there's nothing your computer can detect?"

Albert took a moment to stretch his legs under the table and then replied, "Well, there's no computer-generated code, no markings… means I'll have to do this old-school."

"As in?"

"X-rays, chemical analysis. Palimpsest cultures may be ancient, but it's still a good method—hiding text under even more text."

"Not to bad-mouth Laura's education, but… palimpsest? Chemicals? She was a high school girl. She was in a rush, her resources were limited. Jeez, she was just a kid."

Albert stared at the Sheriff half-asleep on the sofa across from him, and felt a surge of affection for the hulking boob (though he only called him that to tease him these days—the man was quick on his feet, and, ever since he'd gotten Coop out of the drugs bust, he'd done well for himself in Albert's books).

"Albert? What is it?"

"Just enjoying that amazing moment when a blind raccoon happens upon a rich family's garbage bin." Startled into action, Albert got his briefcase full of chemicals off the floor and grabbed what he needed, then cleared the sideboard to his right.

"I don't get it."

"See, blind as a mole, you are. But you still hit the trash can."

"Albert, please, speak English."

"Alright, oh Captain of the Snail Express: resources. A kid's resources. A kid with secrets and silly friends. Now, what do all kids with secrets and silly friends have?"

"Albert…"

"Fine, I can see your moment of mental clarity has passed, but let me assure you, it was a fine one, one to tell the grandkids about. Now; slightly more ordinary, but vital in our conundrum: magic ink."

Harry let that sink in for a moment, and then gave the sort of surprised, nervous laugh people do when they can't quite believe their brains just did that.

"And now?"

"Now," Albert murmured while preparing what he needed to make invisible ink visible again, "I'll get to work and you go to sleep. I'll have it by the time you get up."

"Alright." Harry turned onto his side, using his arms as an extra cushion, and closed his eyes. "Albert?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

"Sleep, Harry. I'll wake you at 8."

Without further comment or complaint, the Sheriff let himself surrender to the softness of the upholstery and the safety of having Albert Rosenfield working next to him to find some badly-needed answers and guarding his sleep.


	5. I Think I'll Take My Chances, Agent Cooper

The sun lazily crawled through the blinds of the mangy old lab and a few birds had the audacity to chirp. Albert rolled his eyes at himself for cheering up, then checked his watch. He'd gotten about an hour of rest with his feet propped up on the desk while watching the Sheriff sleep across the room. Little snorting noises every 15 seconds, no spit bubbles.  _No, hold on a minute, that's not the scientific discovery of the day_ , he thought. That would be the message written on top of a perfectly ordinary diary entry that Laura Palmer made on the 10th of October. Largely drugs and hormones, as per, but the extras were what was interesting:

' _Whoever reads this after I'm dead: I had a dream about a red room and a painting, and then there was a girl in a floral dress next to me on my bed. She had blood on her face and neck, and she told me to write this in my diary. I don't even know why I'm actually doing this, but if this helps to find someone who's in danger, then, please, get them out. She said this: My name is Annie, and I've been with Laura and Dale. The good Dale is trapped in the Lodge and he can't leave.'_

Now, that was proof that there was something really, really wrong.

The forensics expert closed his eyes again for a bit and put his head on the backrest of his chair, his arms folded across his chest. It wasn't quite 8 am yet, so no reason to disturb Truman, he decided. Just then, the phone rang, and Albert cursed under his breath before quickly picking it up.

"Yes?" was all he offered while peering over at Harry to check whether he had stirred—negative, the Sheriff was still under.

"Agent Rosenfield, it's Hawk. Is the Sheriff with you? I couldn't get him on his home phone, and it's urgent."

"Yes, he's here, Deputy. He's just out to get more coffee, what should I tell him when he gets back?" Albert replied in a low voice.

"Oh, alright. Please tell him that Dr Jacoby called, he's coming in sometime this afternoon, it's about Miss Blackburn. another thing: we've dredged up some more dirt on the Packards and  _Ghostwood_. Interesting stuff, he oughtta take a look at that."

"Good, I'll make sure to tell him. He'll have some interesting things to report, too."

"Looking forward to it. Bye."

Albert hung up the phone and sighed. He stretched his protesting muscles, meanwhile checking his watch—7.36 am. Close enough. Besides, knowing the Sheriff, he'd rather get woken up 24 minutes early than miss anything urgent. So, Albert wandered over to the sofa, pausing a moment to contemplate Truman's almost comically boyish sleepy-face. Then, he prodded the lawman's shoulder, calling his name. After the third prod and just as Albert considered resorting to actual name-calling, Harry's eyes opened and he blinked into the relative brightness of the room. He yawned, stretched a little and fixed his gaze on Albert.

"Morning. You're still here."

"Of course I'm still here, I said I'd wake you at 8. And I would have done, but Captain Hawkeye called a few minutes ago, so I figured I'd wake you immediately. 24 minutes early, I'm almost tempted to apologize."

The Sheriff chuckled, sat up, and shook his head to clear the cobwebs. "That's fine. I'm presuming it's urgent?"

"Yep. He said to tell you that they've got new dirt on the Packards; and Dr Jacoby wants to talk to you this afternoon, it's about Annie. Also, I've finally found the message."

"Just as promised, thank you. But, did you get any sleep?"

"Are you implying I look tired, Sherlock?"

"I'm implying you look like you got piss-drunk, run over by a truck, and then went to sleep in an iron maiden."

"That's nice, Sheriff. You're picturing me stashed away in an ancient torture device, nonetheless that one? Don't let your resident Sigmund Freund hear that."

"Sigmund Freud? I'm guessing that's a compliment, considering your usual choice of nicknames…"

"You know that rumour has it that dear Sigmund ploughed through the cocaine faster than an aardvark through an ant family reunion?"

"And there it goes… Anyway, did you?"

"What?"

"Get any sleep?"

"A bit, yeah. I found the message at 5.30, cleaned up, went to have a bit of a nap in the chair. I'm alright."

"Sorry, I shouldn't have taken the sofa. I was just too damn tired last night…"

"About that: I had to poke you about a dozen times before you woke up. Aren't law enforcement officers supposed to be ready and alert at the teensiest hint of trouble?" Albert was only half-serious; he knew the Sheriff was reliable. But one of those days relaxing during the wrong night could get you killed. He thought of Pittsburgh, and shuddered unnoticeably. Harry took it well, and scoffed good-naturedly. "You were here; and what was there to worry about? Moths?"

Albert rolled his eyes, and went back to his desk to pick up the diary and a few of his notes. "Here, say good morning to that. I'll get new coffee."

Harry took the evidence and nodded. He read the diary entry, the message, and Albert's preliminary report, made a mental note to call Gordon Cole to request more FBI back-up for when push came to shove, and then decided he definitely needed to clean himself up a bit.

Albert and Harry arrived back at the old lab at the same time, both a bit less bleary-eyed, and one armed with two clean mugs and a fresh pot of coffee. After a bit of silent, liquid breakfast, Harry gathered his hat and jacket while Albert bagged the evidence for him to take down to the station.

"Do you want to come down later to talk it over with the others?"

"No, you do that. It's all in the report, and you won't need me: it's in small words in the important parts. Besides, Coop might catch a glimpse of me, and he'd better not."

"Alright, but don't complain about getting bored again."

"I won't, because I won't—I've decided to take a look at that travelling salesman's wonder drug. I think I might figure out how to modify it so that it binds the inhabiting spirit instead of pushing it away."

"Good. Call me if anything pops. I'll come back later."

"No watching duty tonight?"

"No, it's Hawk's turn."

Albert nodded, already thumbing through his notes and references again, checking for additional information on the drug, and asked, "Could you pick up something to eat on the way? I haven't had anything but coffee in a while, and I refuse to go near the stuff they serve in this canteen."

"Sure, I'll let Norma know. See you tonight."

"Tonight," Albert confirmed, and shovelled more paper on the desk to get on with the research while Harry left for the day.

* * *

At the station, Hawk and Andy were waiting for him in the conference room. Lucy had prepared their breakfast as usual and Harry, completely famished, dug in before gesturing for the other two to follow him to his office. In there, he opened his desk drawer and pulled a clean shirt and socks. He noticed Hawk's eyebrows climbing upwards about an inch, so he glared. Hawk grinned, but mercifully decided not to have a crack at his boss not making it home last night. Instead, he nudged Andy to spread out the new evidence they had on the Packard mill and property on the Sheriff's desk. Ever since Lucy had determined she wanted Andy to be the father of her child, the other deputy was simultaneously more energetic  _and_  confused.

"OK, what have you got?"

"We've uncovered a lot of transactions, investments, and insurance policies that don't make any sense at first. But, um, we let Agent Cooper have a shot at it as you said; and he's come up with something that's at least conclusive, if completely insane. We'd need more records from Benjamin Horne to complete the picture, but it seems logical that the missing variable in that time line Agent Cooper put together would be him."

Harry traced the line with one index finger and flipped through the assorted documents with the other hand.

"They seem to have been conning each other in and out of possession of the mill and the surrounding estates. There's still a lot missing, but Coop has got a lively imagination, I'm sire he'll fill in the blanks if we can get him the rest. Hawk, request a warrant, we need Benjamin Horne's account information and records. He'll put up a fight, but take this to the judge and see what happens.  _Stop Ghostwood_  isn't just a broken man's promise, it's a cover-up." The Sheriff handed his deputy the file and Hawk made to leave, but Harry stopped him. "Wait, there's more. Albert—Agent Rosenfield—found the message in Laura's diary. It was written in magic ink," Harry smirked as Hawk and Andy exchanged confused looks, "and it confirms what Annie told us. Coop is in there, and he needs our help. I want you two to put together enough men, supplies, and cars for a little… outing in the woods. No specific date yet, just father enough resources. And, please, quietly. Under the radar and carefully, choose only people you can trust. Andy: no five words to explain when none will do. Folks trust you, they'll help. Hawk: as many Bookhouse boys as you can without attracting any attention. If you meet Coop—hell, Andy, shut up, Hawk, tell him a clever lie. Now, have fun, kids!"

The two deputies smirked, gave him a mock-salute, and left the office. Harry rustled through the other paperwork on his desk, but decided he didn't have the nerve to tidy up. Instead, he picked up the phone and asked Lucy to patch him through to the Double R.

* * *

Dale sat in his armchair, chin propped up on his right hand, staring, but unseeing, at the red curtains surrounding him. A shadow glid by outside, unnoticed by the man pondering his undecided fate. So much unknown—he felt like the negative space of someone who'd once been whole. He knew that Laura had handed him the key, but he couldn't find the damn door it unlocked. He didn't know where to start: what was it about Annie, Caroline, Audrey, and what happened to them not being his fault that was supposed to get him out of here? He rubbed his hand across his face and sat up.

There hadn't been any apparitions so far, no more Meanwhiles taunting him—he knew Laura was staying close to look after him and make sure he wouldn't be disturbed. He wondered what kind of trouble she'd put up on the corridors for him, but he forced himself to stop worrying about that, focusing on his situation instead. Something had been niggling at the back of his mind for a while now, a tiny detail that felt important. He thought back to the scene that had unfolded in front of him as he'd stumbled into the red room only to find himself on the floor, bleeding—it was him, stabbed in Pittsburgh, he knew, the same wound that had just reopened in his own flesh. Then, there was a woman beside him: Caroline. She was bloodied, her limbs twisted, as she'd been when she'd died in his arms, and his insides burnt with more than the injury at seeing her soiled dress. That floral dress had always been his favourite of hers, he'd always seen it as bittersweet irony that she'd worn it the night they both should have died. But as the women struggled to sit up, he realized with shock that it wasn't Caroline. It was Annie.

Searching for another clue as to what the hell was going on, he continued wandering around and, stepping through another curtain, found himself face-to-face with Annie, in the black dress she'd worn during the pageant.

"Dale."

He noticed immediately that she was speaking in the slightly garbled, backwards-sounding way of all inhabitants of the Lodge. But she couldn't, she wasn't dead. Her eyes were clear.

"I saw the face of the man who killed me. It was my husband."

Dale didn't understand what was going on. Annie wasn't making any sense.

"Annie?"

"Who's Annie? It's me. It's me. It's me."

And right then, right before his eyes, she transformed into Caroline, in her dress. Her eyes were glazed over, a Meanwhile.

"Caroline."

And then, there was Annie, but wearing Caroline's dress again.

"You must be mistaken. I'm alive," the woman answered and gently cupped his cheek with her left hand. Now, what was that supposed to mean? Before he had time to ask, there was Laura's Meanwhile, screaming, but she changed, too, becoming Windom Earle. Dale startled violently before becoming aware of Annie appearing to his right. Both men turned to look at her, but then she faded. From then on, things had run their horrible course, and Dale's head ached just thinking about it. But there was the detail he'd been digging for: the dress. Not just that he had confused the two, apparently, but… oh.

He'd confused the two.

"Not just in the Lodge, but before that," he muttered quietly to himself. Slowly, everything came together in his mind. A picture emerged that was as gruesome as it must have been obvious, at least to Laura. But he should've known it, too. There he was, putting so much stock in Tibetan intuition and psychological profiles, and then he screwed himself over like that. Gordon had been right to worry about him the way he did… 'You really fucked the dog, peanut.' The phrase came unbidden into his mind, he didn't know where from, but it was accurate. Dale felt he was on the verge of understanding something very important…

He'd thought Annie would understand. He'd thought she would understand because they were both afraid of failing again, they both had something to make up for. She was his mirror, almost, and Dale felt comfort in that.

Which was unfair. And stupid. Laura was right—Annie couldn't help him, because she didn't know. He hadn't taken the time to explain to her why exactly he was scared. He didn't want her to know, he'd rather distract her by seducing her instead of opening up to her; after all the things she'd told him about herself. She'd trusted him, and he… he had a bad case of projection, and denial.

He'd been running away from himself, from Caroline, and from Audrey. He'd tried to right a wrong that wasn't his to make right anymore. He'd put Annie up on a pedestal with Caroline—he'd stuck her into a dead woman's dress, trying to save a love that was long since lost.

When he fell for Audrey, he'd been sure he was making the right call to step away from her—not just because she was too young, but because the trauma was coming back. Falling in love with a woman involved in his case: not again. He felt guilty when he realized how scared he got when she disappeared, and how nervous he was before going to One Eyed Jack's to get her out. He was terrified of making the same mistake twice, and then when he found Annie, he didn't realize he was making a different mistake entirely.

She wasn't involved with the case, she was new, she didn't know. Audrey knew, and she respected it, so they made a deal. When he met Annie, he suddenly didn't care about deals anymore. All he knew was that he'd found someone special, someone who didn't know about his past, who didn't have to know. He'd tried to tell himself that it was because he didn't want to burden her, but he knew that that was crap. She would have put two and two together, and he was too much of a coward to be open with her. When he met her, he was so distraught and living in the dark hole that Windom Earle's reappearance had shoved him into, he went down the spiral. He was so desperate to escape his former partner, he didn't notice he was trying to recreate the scenario, but with a better ending this time around. History was repeating itself in his head, and he found a girl he could save.

As soon as he saw the scars on her wrist, something within him snapped, and he decided that he would be the one to save her; that, this time, he wouldn't fail. He didn't understand that he'd already broken the circle—he'd saved Audrey because he loved her. He had saved Audrey for her sake, with the old guilt just a background noise, but then his world turned upside-down, and Annie became Caroline. He wanted to exonerate himself of Earle's influence on his life. That was why she told him that he must be mistaken, that she was alive—the one he was trying to save was already dead, and Annie couldn't have replaced her.

He wondered why the Lodge hadn't used Audrey in that row of women to taunt him with as well, but it occurred to him that maybe that was because Audrey wasn't plugged into that fear. When she was in danger, he got her out, and he had no doubt in his mind that he could. Audrey perfected his courage—Annie and Caroline didn't. The Lodge could use them to hurt him, because when they were concerned, his courage turned self-destructive. Windom Earle and Bob had kept his fear alive, had fed it, until he couldn't distinguish between guilt and love anymore.

He had failed Caroline—he shouldn't have started an affair with her, and he wasn't fit to defend her life when her husband attacked them; the same way he'd been unfit to protect Annie when he ignored the Giant's warning not to let her enter the pageant. But what he was only slowly understanding, what Laura had opened his eyes for, was that Windom Earle had been planning this all along. He couldn't have known that his own partner and lover's husband would turn on him, on them, like this. He couldn't have been prepared for an attack from within the safe house when he'd been looking out for an external threat. He'd failed, but it wasn't his fault, and it wasn't a wrong he could have righted by saving a substitute—it wasn't a wrong he should have been trying to right. He would have to live with it, but it was something you could hope to wake up with one day, not minding to carry it around with you anymore.

By making his own life about Caroline, Dale missed all the signs that he'd manoeuvred himself into a vicious circle that there was no getting out of. He needed saving, too.

"Oh, I've been so stupid."

"Yep," came Laura's voice from outside.

* * *

Benjamin Horne was just about to wrap up a phone call from a slightly dubious Lithuanian investor when someone barged in through the door without so much as a cough posing as a knock. He swivelled around in his chair to give the intruder a piece of his mind, but he stopped short as he realized who it was. Catherine Martell stood in front of his desk, the very image of fury and panic, shaken, not stirred, and served with a steely glare.

"I'm sorry, I'll have to call you back, something important just came up. I'll get back to you, yes. Bye-bye!" He shoved the receiver into the cradle without looking and schooled his face into an exasperated expression.

"What can I do for you, Catherine? You look all… ruffled."

"Oh, I'm going to ruffle you, big boy, because I sure hope you've got your affairs in order and your tracks covered. The police and the FBI have requested everything my now-really-dead brother hid in his presumed afterlife, and if that weasely Agent Cooper is as good at phantasy Disney stories as he seems to be, then I'm sure they'll put it together as far as the trail leads—then, there's you missing in the picture, and then suddenly will make sense. And all that just because Josie told her silly Sheriff about the fake ledger. When the warrant came through to search the house after they learned of my brother's death, they didn't rest until they had, indeed, two."

"Why are you telling me this?" Ben Horne leaned forward on the desk on his forearms. "You're going down anyway, even if they don't find the exact missing parts of the puzzle. Why would you warn me? Surely, it isn't concern for my family should I be thrown behind bars."

"I want the dirt you had on Josie. In return, you get the dirt she had on you. I found her key before the cops came to buffalo through my house. Let's not make it worse by giving them more than what they'll find in the records. As much as it pains me to protect Josie's memory, your dirt implicates me, so I want to do swapsies sooner rather than later."

Catherine seemed mad at herself for doing this, but Ben knew her better judgement would always rule in favour of getting her rear away from the raging fire as far as possible. A smile started spreading across his face. This could get very interesting, indeed.

* * *

"Dr Jacoby, please come in. You wanted to talk to us about Miss Blackburn?" Harry let the psychiatrist in and gestured towards the chairs in front of his desk.

"Doctor," Agent Cooper greeted him and shook his hand.

"Sheriff Truman, Agent Cooper, thank you for seeing me this afternoon," Jacoby said while taking off his coat and draping it over the back of the chair before sitting down. "I have something important to discuss with you; although, to be fair, discuss isn't the operative word here. My patient and I have reached a decision, I have consulted with her doctors at the hospital and Dr Hayward, and I'm here to ask for your support in securing safe transport." The doctor felt Agent Cooper shift next to him, and he had to force himself to keep looking at Harry to prevent the cogs from starting to turn. One look to curious, and the agent would know they were on to him.

"Well, what's the decision and what do you need our help with?" Truman asked in a calm voice, as if this weren't the big deal it really was.

"We have decided that it would be best for Miss Blackburn to get a little change of scenery. Somewhere in another quiet town, where she can work through what happened to her, until she knows how she wants to go on living her life. Where she wants to go on, specifically. Although I'm sure you understand that there isn't much that I can tell you about her state of mind, this whole disaster crashed into a vulnerable time in her life, and she needs help to sort out her priorities. I would like you, Sheriff, to help us set up a safe house where my wife and me can take care of her. And I must ask you to honour her request for privacy. No-one but you should be advised of the location—not even you, Agent Cooper, I am sorry. But I must make sure to eliminate all sources of fear other than that still in her mind. You are, regrettably, a connection to that fear, and I'm afraid she'll only get better if she feels she's safe from everything that connects to her experience in the Lodge."

Harry carefully glanced over at Coop, trying to determine how well he was taking this. Inevitably, the FBI agent's face darkened, and Harry could see he was struggling for counter-arguments. Ah, there was one.

"But don't you think it might be easier for her to work through this here, in Twin Peaks—isn't confrontation supposed to help?"

Dr Jacoby did give the agent's question due consideration before replying. "Well, I see your point there, Agent Cooper, but I'm afraid confrontation isn't always the method of choice in traumatic cases such as these. You see, the point of using regression to process trauma is that the anxiety that triggers it is unconscious reality bleeding through our denial. As therapists, it is our responsibility to judge and adjust the degree of anxiety necessary to get through to the unconscious. Staying in the original environment of the trauma is too dangerous. Away from here, I can try to control the triggers, observe anxiety, and path the way for her to be led through the process as carefully as possible."

"But what about your new neighbours? Won't it be too difficult easing her into a new community? I don't want her to be written off as the nutter, or even attacked while she's healing." Cooper's voice had almost imperceptibly risen in volume towards the end, and the doctor saw Harry tense out of the corner of his eye.

"Don't worry about that, Agent Cooper. I'm sure the people I have in mind will be very understanding and open-minded."

Another change came over the FBI agent, and he leaned over his armrest towards the doctor. His eyes were dark and cold. "If you make it worse instead of better, you'll have me to answer to, Doctor."

"I think I'll take my chances, Agent Cooper."

* * *

Five hours later, Sheriff Truman checked into the hospital carrying a bag from the Double R diner and quickly made his way to the basement lab they had set up Agent Rosenfield in. He knocked on the door and entered, finding Albert at the desk, four empty coffee cups leaving stains on the chipping wood, hunched over his research. The scientist looked up and sniffed the air experimentally.

"Hmm, dinner."

"Yep," Harry grinned, and set the bag smack on top of the lab rat's notes. "Now, stop obsessing about haloperidol, and stuff your face. Then, you can help me set up a plan to get Annie out of town safely."

"Pleasure—my favourite past-time, helping the hillbillies master the challenges of looking after important witnesses."

Harry retaliated by shoving a paper plate of fries into his face.


	6. What Are You, My Pre-Scheduled Psych Evaluation?

In the Lodge, Laura sat hunched over the body of Dale Cooper, yelling for him to wake up. They had been talking about Annie, Audrey, and Caroline, when suddenly his eyes had rolled back into his head. Then, he'd gone limp, slid off his armchair, and started seizing on the floor. Laura cradled his head in her lap so he wouldn't hurt himself, but it seemed that that was all she could do. She even screamed for help, just in case any of the other spirits were there to listen, but no answer came. With his limbs flailing and his breathing ragged, Laura could only hope that whatever this was would be over soon while she replayed their conversation over and over in her mind.

" _How could I be so stupid, Laura?"_

" _You were frightened. You didn't know what to do, so you reverted into a situation that you knew—being threatened by Earle, having him ruin your life; it dragged you back into it, and Annie provided a substitute for the former centre of that world: Caroline. She destroyed your courage, and you let her."_

" _But then why did I experience fear the moment I did? The way Hawk explained it, it makes sense. With imperfect courage, you don't get out of here in one piece, so why was the first time I felt afraid when Bob had just killed Earle? Shouldn't I have been relieved? After all, he told me I could go."_

" _It was because Earle played such an important role in your life. He loomed over everything, every fear you had, every time you fell in love. With Windom Earle dead, that influence over your life was gone. You didn't know at the time, but Earle was what was driving you so hard all this time. After Earle's death, that driving force would be gone, you'd be out of danger, the investigation would be over, and you would have been free to be with Annie. You would have been free. And that's what scared you."_

" _I could have forgiven myself."_

" _Have you, Dale?"_

" _I… I don't know, I…" Suddenly, he gulped and put a hand on his throat. "Laura, I'm choking. There's something wrong. It's like… Bob can feel it. He's freaking out… he's angry. Very angry. I have… I have to fight it. Maybe I can use the connection—"_

_Before he could finish his sentence, Dale passed out._

* * *

When Ed Hurley made a last round past Cooper's hotel room at the Great Northern, he wasn't prepared to find the young sergeant they had booked in the room across the hall bleeding on his bed.

"McGee! For God's sake, what happened?" He put a hand to the deputy's throat to check his pulse, and used the other to reach for the phone to call for an ambulance. The young sergeant gasped for air but couldn't move. He was immobilized, and blood was soaking through his clothes and the bedspread. He struggled to speak through the pain.

"There was a man, he… looked just like that sketch… of the man who killed… Laura Palmer. I don't know how he got in… Agent Cooper hadn't left his… room. He was behind me and… Ed, dammit, he stabbed me in the back! I can't feel my legs!"

"When did this happen?"

"I don't know, I've lost track… only a few minutes ago. Ed, I'm sorry, I—"

"Shh, McGee, it's alright. You'll be alright." Ed gave the emergency line the address and room number, and then made another quick call to the station to get back-up.

"The EMTs are going to be with you in a minute. I've got to go and start looking for Agent Cooper. Don't you get scared, McGee, you'll be fine. I'm sorry for putting you through this."

"It's… OK, Ed." The breaths were coming faster and shallower now. "Just, you have… to know… somethin'. He mumbled something about finding… Annie. Who's… Annie?"

An icy weight settled in Ed's gut, but he struggled not to let the distress show on his face, it would only scare McGee more. "Thanks, McGee. You get some rest now." Ed hurried out of the room and across the hall, but of course Agent Cooper wasn't there anymore. He heard a commotion outside, and ran into the EMTs, and Andy and Hawk.

"Andy, Hawk, where's Sheriff Truman?"

"He's at the hospital—we called, he's on his way."

"I'll radio him from your car—McGee said Bob's on the loose, this time, and he wants to find Annie." The two deputies blanched and exchanged a look. Upon Hawk's nod, Andy ran into the other room to help take care of McGee. Ed led the way outside and got on the radio with Harry just as Hawk sped off the parking lot. "Harry, this is Ed. I'm with Hawk, we're on the way downtown."

"Reading you loud and clear, Eddie. What's goin' on out there?"

"McGee saw the face of the man who attacked him, and you're not gonna like it."

"Just spit it out, for crying out loud! This isn't an infomercial on tarot cards, though with the right dosage of local mushrooms, you dunderheads probably think those are real."

Ed and Hawk looked at each other for a second, before the deputy had to stifle a laugh, in spite of the situation, and left Ed to pick up the pieces.

"Is, um, that Agent Rosenfield with you there, Harry?"

"You're damn right it is, Monsieur Poirot, because over the past week I've been slaving away over tubes and chemicals until I cracked the formula and created a drug powerful enough to sedate and bind your twice-cursed crossroads demon, so how about you tell us where we're supposed to jack the syringe up his ass?"

"Ed, I'm sorry, Albert here is a little on edge tonight. What is this news I'm not gonna like?"

"Well, that drug might come in handy, Harry, because McGee swears on pain of death—literally—that it was full-grown Bob who stabbed him, and that he was mumbling to himself something about finding Annie."

"Oh, God," Harry breathed.

"What? Where is she?"

"Today's her first day back at the diner to take over for Norma for a few days, just until we can get her transferred. Shit, that's exactly what I feared. We made her a decoy. And that's not the only thing Coop's gonna kill me for when he gets back."

"What else, Harry?"

"Of course I sent a uniform to look out for Annie, but… Norma reported sick this morning, so Audrey volunteered to be with her after dark and get her home."

Even over the radio, Ed heard the scoff and cynical snort from Agent Rosenfield as clearly as if he were in the car with him and Hawk.

"Oh, I foresee the most biblical endorsement of Divide and Conquer that will probably be made into a memorial day in this town…"

"Albert, stop it!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Ed saw Hawk biting his lip to keep quiet, and made a mental note to ask a few pointed questions about that later.

"Ed, Hawk, go to the Double R. We'll meet you there. I'll get back-up to canvass the area, they can't have gotten very far."

"You got it." Ed killed the radio and turned towards Hawk. "Is there something you wanna tell me?" Hawk gave him a look. "Let's gossip later, Gladys." Ed sobered, and a few minutes afterwards, they pulled into the parking lot in front of the Double R just as Sheriff Truman and Agent Rosenfield got out of the truck. The diner lay dark and quiet—the four men exchanged glances, and Harry and Hawk drew their weapons and flashlights.

"Ed, Hawk, round the back. Albert, with me, but stay behind me."

"Sheriff, I'm not one of your backwater—"

"No arguing, Albert, you're unarmed!"

The agent grumbled, but gestured a quirky Go Ahead to Harry. Ed and Hawk rolled their eyes and the deputy led the way around the back of the restaurant, Ed taking care to stay in the back of the gun. The back door was wide open when they rounded the corner. Carefully, they inched closer and listened for any noises coming out of the kitchen or the storage room. When there was nothing, they went in, Hawk in Isosceles stance to shield Ed behind him the best he could, who switched the lights on the moment they stepped in. There was no-one there, but there were pots lying around on the floor, and supply cartons were upset.

"There's been a struggle," Hawk whispered, and, checking the corners and nooks on the way, they proceeded to the front. "The back's clear," called Hawk before stepping through. "But there's signs of a fight, pots and pans on the floor, food cards disturbed. Back was wide open."

"We've got something, too—unconscious uniform, face-first into his apple pie." Harry pointed to the booth on the far right, where Albert was checking the young officer for injuries. "He's fine, though spineless. Didn't even have the guts to draw his weapon."

"Or the time," Harry muttered, looking around for more clues. "Damn."

"What?"

Harry bent, slid down on his knees, and reached underneath the seats next to the music box. When he drew back, he was dangling a hallmark Double R hair bow from his forefinger. "Ok. The front door was unlocked, but closed, there was a struggle in the back. Tells me he came in playing nice, then knocked out the uniform, the girls ran to the back, he caught up with them, they tried to defend themselves, he gets them… and they're off."

"Sheriff?" A voice came from the door. Another deputy poked his head in. "We canvassed the area, there was no-one around on the streets, and residents neither heard nor saw anything out of the ordinary or otherwise."

"Where do you think they went, Harry? The train site where he took Laura and Ronette?"

"Albert?"

"Profile on this guy doesn't suggest he'd have old haunts or favourite places. His MO is about what he does to the victims: the letters underneath their fingernails and wrapping them in plastic; but locations vary from murder to murder. And now that it's not the same host, i.e. not the same source material he's working with… I'm sorry, gentleman, but there is no way to predict where he's going unless one of you suffers a sudden stroke of genius."

"I thought you  _were_  the genius," Harry quipped, and Albert rolled his eyes.

* * *

Audrey woke up with her head pounding. She tried to sit up and take a look around, but found that her arms were bound so they bent back at her shoulders. She wasn't gagged, but the air was so stale she wheezed. Her legs were tied together as well, so the best she could do was shuffle around on the floor to get the dimensions of the whatever room she was in right. She was alone, at least she couldn't hear any other breathing sounds, and there was no light source except for a streetlight shining in through the tiny window under the ceiling, throwing bizarre shadows. Once her eyes got used to the dim ambience, she could make out dusty cupboards and rusty lead piping along the walls. It was unnaturally warm, and that was when Audrey recognized the room: she'd been in there once before, as part of a detention for smoking in the girl's bathroom. The school's basement, specifically the boiler room. She wiggled around to feel out whether she was bound to the wall in some way, and when she noticed she wasn't, she used the experience she'd gathered during her brief, though memorable, stint at permanent bondage at One Eyed Jack's. There had to be a weak spot in the bindings, a little give that she could use to twist her body around and gain enough momentum to get up, at least. Maybe she could get to Annie somehow.

That second, she heard a terrible scream close by.

* * *

Harry paced the length of the restaurant, while the other three sat in the booth of the formerly passed-out uniform. Where could he have taken them? He was getting a little desperate, 'cause even if they called for back-up from the surrounding counties, they'd never get enough resources to search the entire town, not to mention the woods. If they had a hunch, it had to be air-tight, and they had to suffer that stroke of genius soon.

"So you're saying that, in choosing the locations, he operates on opportunity and convenience?"  
"Yes. In this case, somewhere relatively close. I don't know whether he had the chance to drug the girls, but if he only knocked them out, they're likely to have woken up soon enough. Since getting out into the woods with two young women kicking and screaming would take too long and attract too much attention, he's more likely to have stayed in town."

"Where?"

"Somewhere deserted, closed-off at night."

"No psychological or emotional significance?"

Albert sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Unlikely, but, considering his erratic state, not impossible."

"Where to take two young girls if you want to kill them quietly. I mean, he is using Coop. What if part of him is still trying to help? He was in love with both of them, maybe there's a place that holds—"

"The school," Albert cut in.

"What?"

"Cooper was in love with a high school princess and emotionally-stunted suicide girl—there's your damn emotional significance. Plus, it's the weekend, and they don't have a super at the moment. It's empty, it's off the beaten track, there's no-one to hear their screams."

"That's a pretty daring shot in the dark, Albert."

"Yes, and it's the best we've got. You're not the only one operating on gut instinct here, Sheriff, and this is mine. It's what you were asking for, isn't it?"

The two men stared each other down for a moment, until Harry snapped out of it, and turned to Hawk and Ed. "Boys, get in the car and follow us there. Get back-up to the school, as many as you can get, including the Bookhouse boys. Albert, with me." With that, he was already half-way out the door.

"Well, now we know who's wearing the pants in that relationship," Hawk mumbled to Ed out of the corner of his mouth, who stared at him for a moment before nodding with a 'Sometimes, life is stranger than fiction' expression on his face.

* * *

Annie's body felt like it was on fire. Well, it probably  _was_. She was only slowly regaining consciousness, and what she became aware of first was something wet moving between her toes. She tried pulling her foot away, but her legs were tied together. After struggling a little she heard a low chuckle, and she stilled in horror. She fought to open her eyes, and while she was still blinking, a voice rasped into her ear.

"How's Annie?"

She whimpered, and another laugh from her captor sent shivers down her spine.

"I was wondering when you'd wake up. Seems like someone has a foot fetish around here—did he do that when you slept with him, too?"

She recoiled, trying to dissociate the creature using Dale's voice and body from the man she'd fallen in love with. She felt soft hands, that did no justice to the calloused and scarred being she imagined inside, roam over her body, underneath her clothes, painfully pinching her breasts until her breathing hitched, cruelly mimicking the way Dale had touched her that afternoon before the pageant.

"I'm a little torn, you know. I don't have much time, and there's another prize waiting for me, but I'd really like to enjoy you a little…"

Annie pressed her lips together, unwilling to say anything that might goad him on.

"Oh, you're trying to be brave, aren't you? Let's see about that, shall we?"

Suddenly, she was being smothered by his body atop hers, there were hands clawing at her, tearing her skirt apart and ripping the buttons off her blouse, teeth and tongue gnawing and licking at her throat. She angled her head away to avoid having to look at him, but that only afforded her, out of the corner of her eye, a glimpse of the flash of a knife. Her eyes widened in terror, she could not stop the scream that erupted from her mouth as the blade pierced her abdomen.

* * *

Terrified, Audrey somehow managed to throw her body around and into a crouching position. Literally hopping on her knees, she inched closer to the door, but as Annie's screams turned louder and more anguished, her movements became so frantic that she wasn't getting anywhere at all. She had to pause and draw a few shaky breaths before she could go on, her stockings tearing as she robbed over the stone floor, the skin at her knees chafing. Soon, they would start bleeding, and for one irrational moment, Audrey hoped Bob wasn't like a bear who could smell blood. She went on like this for several minutes, until she could touch the door handle with her forehead. Annie's screams were only distant sobbing now, until suddenly, there was a lull in all the noise, and then she heard a laugh that sounded like a howl and a cry, and she feared that she knew what that meant. Annie wouldn't have much longer. And then it was her turn.

* * *

The air in the car was so thick they would have needed an army knife to cut it. Albert sat, staring out the window, motionless, waiting for the school to loom up before them. Harry kept throwing him glances, but didn't know what to say. So he settled on the obvious, which was sure to get a reaction out of the FBI forensics expert.

"It's nice to have old, mean Albert back."

"Didn't think you'd miss him."

"Not sure if I did. What was the matter?"

"This whole thing reminds me too much of Pittsburgh. Worse because it's again all Windom Earle's fault. And again, I couldn't do anything but stay cooped up in that goddamn lab and wreck my brains for something that might likely kill Coop rather than incapacitate him, considering how little we know about the workings of that particular… symbiosis."

"Is that all?"

"What, you don't think that's enough going on?"

"You just seemed like there's something else, not just work."

"Being nosy is an unattractive trait."

"Deflection, Albert? Really?"

"Are you comfortable asking me personal questions on the way to the potential site of a double homicide with a side order of rape and torture?"

"Not really, but you need to be alert when we go in there, not withdrawn into yourself."

"You sound like Coop."

"He's a damn good lawman."

"Yeah, and I'm one of the Christmas Spirits."

"More like Scrooge himself."

"Let the record show that I resent that remark."

"Even Scrooge was capable of love in the end."

"Point grudgingly taken."

"Are you going to answer my question?"

"Which one of them, oh mighty Inquisitor?"

"Agent Rosenfield, I have to remind you that you are talking to a law enforcement officer on duty."

"Oh, stop it! No, it's not all."

"Then what?"

"I don't think we should be talking about this now."

"Are we going to talk about it?"

"What are you, my pre-scheduled psych evaluation?"

Harry just kept looking at the road, and Albert sighed. "Yes. We are. As soon as this thing is over."

"Good. This is it—grab your gear."

After they got out of the truck and while Albert got his case with the chemicals and equipment out of the back, Hawk and a whole bunch of other cars pulled into the parking lot, along with a few motorbikes. Harry smiled—they'd never get anything done without the Bookhouse boys.

He raised a hand to keep everyone as quiet as possible and to get them focused on him. "Thanks for coming, folks. We'll have no way of searching the entire premises, so we'll have to concentrate on something. The least accessible and most-isolated, therefore: soundproof, rooms are in the basement. Bob's got a thing for basement, Coop told me, so let's go down and around and work our way up from there. Be careful! You know what Bob and Dale look like, and both might be out to kill you on sight. Of course you have to defend yourselves, but please remember that we need him alive if we want to get Agent Cooper back into one piece. Don't go in anywhere alone, only in groups of two or three so you'll have a chance of overpowering him. Don't roll your eyes behind my back, Albert, I know we aren't girl scouts, but we also don't have a death wish.

"If you get him, shout for Agent Rosenfield immediately. He'll come at you with a syringe, so give him access to Dale's body so he can inject him. This will be spooky, but you'll be fine. Albert, don't say it."

Everyone nodded, and weapons—guns, knives, baseball bats—and flashlights were drawn. Quietly, but quickly, they moved towards the building, where Harry tested the door. The lock was notoriously easy to pick, and Bob had done the job for them. He locked eyes with Hawk and Albert and help up his left hand to count down to one for them to go in.

The building was completely dark, and the only sounds they could hear was their breathing. They were just about to move further into the front hall when an earth-shattering cry pierced the air. It came from below.

Harry put his hand up again to still the jolting movement that had gone through the group—a collective charge would get them nowhere right now, even if his own instincts were screaming at him to get down there faster than his legs could run. But they had to do this right, which meant without attracting attention to themselves before they had the demon surrounded and Albert in position—otherwise, he was likely to kill both girls before they could get an clear line of vision.

Excruciatingly slowly, they moved towards the entrance to the basement, trying to get a grip on the adrenaline that pumped through their veins as the screams got louder. Harry identified the voice as Annie's in his mind, and hoped that she would hold out a little longer—and that Audrey wasn't lying dead in a corner yet. The door to the cellar was slightly ajar, and Harry halted for a moment, debating whether to go slow and careful or quick and abrupt to avoid squealing hinges. He felt Albert nudge him in the back, and made a decision. With one rapid movement, he caught the handle and yanked the door open, feeling the air whoosh by his face—it didn't make a sound, and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Motioning with his free hand for the others to follow him carefully, he started treading the steps.

The small flight of stairs led to a dark corridor with three doors leading to the boiler room, a storage closet for old furniture and supplies, and a smaller room containing tools and cleaning equipment. Harry angled his flashlight so that he could see from where underneath the doors there was light shining through, and his breath hitched as he spied flickering lights underneath the storage closet door. Bob's penchant for candles, another thing Cooper had mentioned from his dreams. In the dim light provided by his flashlight, Harry pointed towards it, and sneaking on the tips of their toes, they somehow managed to get closer to the door without anyone falling over themselves. Annie's cries had dwindled into ragged sobbing, and suddenly there was a laugh, the laugh of a monster, and Harry knew that they had to move quickly if they wanted to get Annie out of this alive.

With a nod to Albert behind him, he put his hand on the door handle.

"One… two… three," he whispered, and on three, he forced the door open and charged into the room, weapon drawn.

The image that greeted him would haunt him for the rest of his life, he knew it. Annie was lying on the floor, bleeding profusely, her clothing torn. Bob, his appearance now fully himself, was straddling her hips, but now twisting around to bark at the intrusion. Harry used the element of surprise that delayed Bob's reaction to draw the focus to himself and shield Albert from the demon's view for a moment. When Bob charged at him, he moved a little to the side, shoulder blocking the creature and throwing it off balance. Bob practically tumbled into Albert, who tackled him and, with the help of Hawk and Joey, forced him to the ground, injecting him as the demon screeched and sputtered, struggling against their hold, but his movement were slowly becoming slurred and clumsy as the drugs began to take effect. When he was finally still, Albert looked up at Harry and muttered, "Well, that was anti-climactic." Turning to the other men, he ordered for them to bind Bob with whatever rope they had, get him to the station, and throw him into the arrest cell. "The drugs should last for at least five hours. I think," he added under his breath, turning around to find Harry already hunched over Annie, feeling for a pulse.

"She's still in there, Albert, but I need you to do your thing."

"Call the hospital," Albert shouted back over his shoulder to anyone still standing in the corridor. "And you, find the other girl."

* * *

Audrey had stilled when she'd heard feet shuffling around outside her prison. She could see there was a small cone of light dancing around as she twisted to look underneath the door, and for a moment she wondered whether she was hallucinating now, too. Could this really be the Sheriff and his men? Audrey thought this kind of figuring out where the hostages were only worked in the movies.

She kept quiet while the shuffling stilled, then she heard the bang of a door against a wall. A man, probably Bob, screamed, there was running, a resounding thud as something heavy landed on the floor, and men gasping and yelling as they struggled with something. It sounded more like the capture of a wild animal than the arrest of a murderer. The monsters are real, Audrey thought with a shudder, and continued listening as the sounds quieted down. Then, she heard a voice give instructions—that must be Agent Rosenfield. She heard what sounded like people carrying something heavy towards the basement steps, and pressed her ear against the door to listen for anything from Annie. Whimpers, breaths, anything, please, she prayed. Nothing came, and she slumped against the door, too exhausted to even cry out for help.

That was when someone called, "Audrey? Miss Horne!" She heard the door to the cleaning closet being forced open, and she was about to try and call back when she was startled by the force of someone opening the door to the boiler room. She looked up into the face of Sheriff Truman. "I've got her!"

* * *

Laura gasped as Dale's frantic movement suddenly quieted down into only small jerks of his head and hands. His breathing calmed and the tight lines of his face relaxed. Maybe, just maybe, they could get some rest. For now.


	7. Fear and Forgiveness

Dale groaned, and pried his eyes open. He felt sick to his stomach. The dim light in the Lodge was kind to his blinding headache, but he still winced. He was half-lying down on something soft, and upon closer inspection he realized it were the two armchairs rearranged into a makeshift sofa. Looking around, he saw Laura in his usual chair, her gaze went unseeing into the distance—she hadn't noticed he was up yet.

"Laura," he called softly. Her head whipped around, and in an instant, she was at his side.

"What happened? How are you feeling?"

"I don't know… and horrible. Remember what you told me about two parts of my soul? It appears that there is a connection. I've been feeling it—it's always anger, coming from him—me. I could never do much except watch, but… now that I've gotten a little stronger after working out a few things. I felt like being sucked into it, and the more I struggled, the more I could suddenly influence it."

"What did you do?"

"Well, I knew I couldn't stop him from going after Annie—" Dale's voice broke a little and Laura drew a sympathetic face as he thumped his head back against the chair—"but I thought maybe I could use his fury to make him make a mistake. Something that would put the police on his heels."

"The police? Do they know the Cooper that got out isn't quite their Cooper?"

"I'm not sure, but I could take a good-enough look at his thought processes to father that he knew they were watching him. They said it was because no-one knew where Windom Earle had gone off to, and that Bob might still be on the loose. He suspected they knew something was off about him—me—though, so he was nervous and itchy to get rid of Annie. They want to move her somewhere else to recover, so he had to act fast. I knew that maybe I could hassle him into committing one murder too many without being detected inside my head. So I cheered him on until he attacked a young officer watching my hotel room before we ran. At the diner, I got Bob to leave the body for a minute to sneak up on the guard while I talked to him and knock him out—to give us an alibi. That way, we could have claimed we were chasing Bob after discovering McGee, which made Bob think he was in complete control of me, not suspecting another guest.

"And when we got to Annie, I fuelled his lust with my own desire until he decided to take Audrey with him as well, which would slow him down.

"Laura, what have I done? I've become a monster. Using bodies as… breadcrumbs."

"Did you have a choice?"

"That doesn't… If I hadn't done that, they wouldn't have noticed he was gone before they found out that Annie and Audrey were missing."

"Then you didn't have a choice. How did your plan go?"

"They found them—us. I'm trying to rationalize, Laura. It wasn't  _me_ who did this. But I was watching and I couldn't stop it. It wasn't me holding the knife, but I can still feel the weight of it in my hand."

"It's not your fault."

"MY GODDAMN SOUL SPLIT BECAUSE I WASN'T STRONG ENOUGH, OF COURSE IT IS MY FAULT!" Dale exploded, without warning. In a flash, he had shot up out of his seat; pushed Laura out of the way and started pacing up and down. The young woman bowed her head to hide her smile.

"What happened that made you wake up?"

Dale continued pacing, and it was a while before he answered. "When they got us, Albert drugged us—him. Apparently, he modified the chemical formula of the drug the one-armed man used, because Bob tried to leave the host, but couldn't. When his consciousness faded, too, that's when I could pull back."

"How are they?"

"Audrey's going to be fine. The other two… I killed them, Laura, I know I did. I KILLED THEM."

"DALE! Is there one single person you know who could get out of here in one piece?" Laura yelled back this time. She needed to provoke him, lure him further out of his comfort zone.

"I do, actually! The Major—he was in here a few times, and he came out unscathed. And it's no comfort that Major Briggs is the better person here," Dale spat.

"What is the Major's greatest fear?"

"That love may not always be enough. Where is this going now? I'm tired of your mind games, Laura."

"What's your greatest fear?"

"LAURA!"

Laura had stood up, and Dale advanced on her. They were practically nose-to-nose now. "Answer the question, Special Agent Cooper!"

"Don't you order me around!"

"Oh, really? I knew you had the occasional problem with authority, but in case it escaped your notice, I'm your only guidance in here. So, what's your greatest fear?"

"I don't know!"

"You'd better find out, then! It won't be long now."

"And how the hell am I supposed to do that? HOW?"

"I can't tell you."

"What's  _your_  greatest fear?"

"I don't know."

"You're lying!"

"Maybe," Laura shrugged. Dale went ballistic.

"This is not one of your fucked-up little games, Laura! The ones you used to play with Bobby and Mike, to get them to deal with drugs and murder that man in the woods while you're just sitting there, giggling, because you're off your face on cocaine. That you needled out of Bobby, no less! You've destroyed so many lives simply by interacting with people, inserting yourself into their lives. Do you have any idea what a shitstorm has broken loose because of the investigation into your death?" All that had come out of Dale in a rush of anger. His face was pale, and though his mouth was contorted with livid fury, his eyes showed that the young agent was actually scared shitless of himself. Laura took a deep breath and steeled herself.

"How do you know about that?"

"About what?"

"The night I was with Bobby, and I was high, and that man showed up."

"I… I don't know. I just do, what does it matter."

"It means everything, Dale. It means you've finally got it. The connection—you can use it now. Remember what I told you about getting angry?"

"You said I needed it to get back in touch with myself."

"Exactly. And you just did. You've linked yourself into the psychic field of the Lodge. You've accepted the connection, and now you know stuff about me the same way I could look into your memories about Annie and the others."

"So, is that it, then? Can I start helping you move on now?"

"No, not yet."

"Why not?"

"You've accepted that there is another part of you that belongs with you, and that you can live with yourself as a whole, but not apart. But acceptance does not mean forgiveness."

"I've already told you, I get it, I get what happened to me when I met Annie."

"And what about tonight? You may accept that I think that you did what was necessary, but do  _you_  believe that?"

"I can't just forget about it, Laura!"

"And I didn't say a word about forgetting! I said that it has to become something you won't mind carrying around with you. You need to make it a part of yourself. I'm not telling you to be proud of it, just… stop beating yourself up about it, would you? You did not hold the knife! Same as with Caroline, the murderer is to blame, no-one else. If you don't get that, he's going to use it as a weapon against you, and you'll  _lose_. For good. And then you'll never get the chance to look them in the eye and apologize, and hear them say that it's alright, that they forgive you."

"How could they forgive me?"

"Oh, you're a nasty piece of work."

* * *

Harry peered into the darkened room. He saw the man that was supposed to be Dale Cooper, pale and still, on the bed, secured with straps. Next to the bed sat Albert, in the most uncomfortable-looking chair Harry had ever laid eyes on. In the light pouring in from the hall behind him, Harry could see how tired and drawn Albert looked, and he regretted not to have brought any coffee with him. He was just about to turn around and try his luck with room service when he heard a quiet, "Come in," from the chair. The Sheriff closed the door behind him and stepped closer.

"How long's it been?"

"Six hours. I've just been given him the second dose. He's still restless, though. At first, I thought it was Bob fighting against the body, but I'm not sure. Coop is knocked out, too, of course, too much of that sedative could fell an elephant—and it was a bitch finding one that wouldn't counteract with the haloperidol to just that end. For all we know, they're in cahoots as long as this Coop is in charge of this body. When a body fights against unconsciousness like this, it's a bit like a cat twitching in its sleep. But there is no muscle movement except behind his eyelids—it's only in his head. No other spasms, flexing, only his eyes, like in your REM phase when you're under so deep you dream very intensely."

"Except he's not asleep. So why does he have REM?"

Albert turned slightly in his seat to glance up at the Sheriff standing next to his chair. "It doesn't only think—it reasons."

"Thanks, Albert," Harry commented sarcastically.

"You're right, though. If something of Dale stayed behind in the Lodge, then maybe there's a connection between them, a link. If I didn't know better, I'd say there's a war being waged in there, by two who definitely aren't friends. And before you ask, I don't know better at all."

"You're not making any sense."

"Neither did Nietzsche. Popular belief in some philosophical circles is still that God is dead and Jesus is a Meth addict."

"What do we do?"

"We wait. Major Fighter Pilot says it's not the time to get him to Glastonberry yet. I don't know what the man is waiting for, but until whatever it is, happens, I'll keep dosing him, hoping his kidneys will hold."

"Do you want someone to take over the watch until it's time for the next dosage?" When Albert hesitated in his answer, Harry added, "You can't keep sitting next to him like this for what might be a few days or several weeks." He didn't know whether the agent relented just to stop his nagging, but he was relieved that Albert let himself—almost literally—be dragged out of the room towards the dining hall, with Harry stopping to instruct one of the deputies standing outside Cooper's room to keep watch and to alert them immediately if anything happened or his condition changed. As they sat down and waited for the waitress, Albert tried to remember the injured officer's name.

"How's the, ah… deputy that Bob attacked?" he asked, drawing a blank.

Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes. "He's in critical condition. The doctors say it's touch-and-go in the next 24 hours. The same with Annie. He hurt both of them badly. I hope they'll make it—for Coop's sake. I can't imagine what it'd be like for him if we got him out: learning that his body was used to murder two people, almost three."

"I think he already knows."

Harry's face grew ashen at Albert's quiet admission. "Why? How?"

"I told you, there might be a connection between our two Dale's, like the psychic link that allowed for the messages in space and the dreams. Also, there have been inconsistencies in his behaviour tonight. It might look like perfectly normal psycho behaviour to you—but then, you've never had any actual psycho police work in this burg, have you? Seriously, you people lack one thing: standards. Anyway—why fatally wound McGee if he can just leave this room without the watchdog—puppy, more like—noticing; and then why knock out the guard who's surely seen Coop first, since the girls would've raised a racket if they'd been Bob wandering in through the front. I bet you that Coop managed to manipulate him into it, though I don't know how or what, exactly. Just something that would throw us off the scent of the host."

"You mean like an alibi?"

"Harry. This is the second time tonight you've said something remotely reasonable. I'm vaguely impressed. Mostly surprised."

"And what does that mean for our Dale out here?"

"Well, he won't be quick on his feet for a while."

* * *

 _What is my greatest fear?_ , Dale thought, pacing around the room.  _And how can I forgive myself?_


	8. Meanwhiles in the Shadows

"Stand on the edge of that volcano and do your dance."

Out of nowhere, that sentence suddenly hit Dale—right between the eyes. He felt as if someone had slapped him on the back of his head with a flat palm. He smiled lightly—thanks, Albert.

He had spent what might have been days (in a temporally disconnected place such as the Lodge, there was no real concept of time) thinking about what Laura said to him, and trying to figure out what his greatest fear was. It proved to be somewhat difficult getting to the most profound point of oneself when about half of oneself was missing. Dale went about it as he always did: trying to use his instincts when pure analysis of facts failed, but with the other part of him unavailable, Dale didn't stand a chance. He needed the fear, the anger—the darkness—to make the quirks work, to listen to his gut when it made him throw a rock at a glass bottle, completely convinced that it would help him find Laura Palmer's murderer. It was his intuition, his readiness to believe in his dreams and hunches that got him to the core of the case time and time again; and the one time he stopped believing in them, the love of his life got killed.

To extract this particular piece of information from a makeshift-joint consciousness had taken Dale quite a while and a lot of nerve. He had, on purpose, re-established the connection with his significant other, as he'd taken to calling the absconded half of his soul, and it hadn't been pretty. The other Coop and Bob's consciousness had been bound, but Dale had still felt as if being barked at and slobbered on by two three-headed hellhounds angrily yanking on their chains. If he wanted to use the link between them like this again, he'd need a better plan than, 'Concentrate and see what pops.' Pop, indeed.

Being unable to find his way into the minds of victims, loved ones, and suspects, not trusting his instincts, and questioning his dreams—in short, not standing on the edge of that volcano and doing his dance—was what terrified Dale Cooper the most, because it had always been what was sure to be the making of him as an agent (or make him worse than ever, as Gordon Cole had often warned him). Just as the Major believed love to be the one thing that kept the world together, Dale believed that one's instincts were the key to a world full of prognoses, statistics, and lab reports. And just like the Major was terrified that the love he felt for his family, especially for his son Bobby, might not be enough to save them from whatever danger the woods of Twin Peaks threatened to overwhelm them with; Dale Cooper feared that his intuition might not be enough to lay victims and their families to rest, to undo at least some of the evil that had been done to them. Intuition to fail would mean that there wasn't anything strange out there, something that the world couldn't explain— _shouldn't_  explain, for its own sake. Something that kept the world on its hinges, and bound all of them together on this ridiculous little planet.

Dale didn't know how far into religious territory he was willing to take this—he preferred evolution and the Big Bang over Creation, but he understood the significance religion held for many people; and he had no qualms about the idea of there being 'more things between heaven and earth' than humans might ever hope to explain—like Laura's angel.

Whether intuition was something in tune with a greater entity, or maybe some really fancy trick that coincidence played on all of them, or whether humans sometimes really did have that sixth sense—it worked. Dale relied on it and believed in it—to have it fall away from under his feet would mean the end of his career. And what else was he good at? Dale didn't kid himself. He knew that he needed the darkness. He loved his job, and many people had look at him strangely because of that; as if they were calculating the chances of the next dead body lying around having been put there by him. You know, pyromaniac fire-fighters, toothless dentists, cops that kill. You couldn't do the job he did without being changed by it. The trick was to _generate_  the change. Only then could you hope to counter it, to control it. Agent Dale Cooper wasn't just quirky. He was his very own Houdini.

And that was why he had to help Laura Palmer move on. Right now.

* * *

"She's coding!"

"We're losing her! Get the crash cart!"

"Careful—if her stitches rupture, we're going to have a bloodbath on a gurney."

Audrey clamped her hands over her ears as she tried to block out the doctors fighting for Annie's life in the ICU ward they'd just shoved her out of.

* * *

"I gotta get back to Coop."

Harry reluctantly opened his eyes and pushed himself up a little to avoid slouching off the sofa entirely. Next to him, Albert downed the rest of his coffee and dragged a hand over his face. He knew it had been at least half an hour since they'd sat down on one of the lounges in the lobby to rest a little, but he felt as if it had only been a few minutes. When this 'case,' as he tried to convince himself to think of it, was over, he'd need about a week of sleep and zero disturbances from any more backwater yokels. Present company excepted.

"I'll be right with you."

"Don't flatter yourself, we won't both fit in that chair. You, go home and get some rest. I'll be fine. What is that, some country girl instinct to do everything in pairs?"

Harry swatted a hand in Albert's general direction to signal a friendly, 'Piss off,' and resolved to get a room down the hall from Coop's. Not McGee's, apart from the fact that it was being processed for evidence, he was reasonably sure he'd never be able to sleep in a bed another person had nearly died in.

When he toed off his boots and sunk back on the bed he'd just practically requisitioned, he wasn't prepared for what the night was still to throw at him

As Albert motioned the officer who'd taken over watching duty for a while out of the room and settled back in the chair, he didn't know how right he'd been. And if anyone had told him how exactly he'd be advised of it—he'd have passed. Except life didn't do conditional clauses.

* * *

"Laura! I think I know—Laura?" Dale skidded to a halt and nearly fell over himself as he saw Laura curled up on the floor outside the Red Room, gently rocking herself back and forth. He knelt next to her and put a hand on her temple to stroke her hair back, hoping to sooth her. "Laura. Can you hear me? Are you hurt? Are you in pain? What can I do?"

"Dale?" she croaked, her eyes moving to look up at him. "Is that you?"

"Yes, it's me. There's no-one else here. Can you tell me what happened?"

"Meanwhiles. They must have noticed what's going on, and… they didn't like it."

"But why didn't they attack me? I'm the one making trouble."

"But I'm the one with all the answers, Dale. Well, at least most of them. No offense, but with me incapacitated, you'd be stuck here for a  _while_."

"Maybe not such a long while, actually. Can you get up? I've got a feeling the corridor isn't quite the safest place to discuss this."

"Yeah, I'm OK, just help me up and hang on, will you?"

Dale helped Laura into a crouching position, gave her a few breaths to pause, and then pulled her up. She stumbled, so he steadied her against him with his hands on her waist. Like this, he slowly shuffled them through the curtains of the Red Room, though not without checking that no-one was lurking anywhere out of the corner of his eye. Inside, he eased her into one of the armchairs he'd rearranged in their original positions, and sat down on the tiled floor next to her.

"Now, Agent Cooper. What do you think you've figured out?"

"My greatest fear, I know what it is. And I think I know what yours is, too. At heart, all humans are greedy. That's not a bad thing, we just all want _something_. Be it love, security, money, or power. We don't always want more at any cost, but when we are put at risk, greed turns into fear—of there not being enough. When our most fundamental belief systems are being threatened, we make sure to check it's still there. For Major Briggs, it's love. For me, it's intuition, to trust my instincts and, ultimately, the people I chose to trust based on that intuition, not just myself. I believe that the world out there has many wonders and mysteries, both beautiful and cruel, and I never want to be proved wrong.

"As for you, Laura Palmer—you've never had any such belief system. You were wild, and you used people to your advantage when it suited you. You may have truly loved Donna and James, but even then you didn't trust their love for you, not implicitly and not always. The only person you believed in, Laura—was yourself. But even that turned sour, because you didn't trust your heart or your intelligence, but your own decadence. You trusted yourself to decay and rot, you knew the day you were going to die; because you wanted to. Your father sexually abused you since you were little; you saw Bob for what he was, and how easy he had it with Leland. You had no values, no-one to hold on to. You thought that you live and then you die, and that whatever comes in between is a huge waste of time unless you know how to… liven things up a bit. You didn't know what to believe in, so cocaine and sex became your false gods who promised to get you out of that wretched life. Maybe you didn't even expect to graduate, to go to college, to get out of Twin Peaks. Maybe you didn't even want to, because the banality of life disgusted you. You were so smart in so many ways—people. They were so easy to read, weren't they? You saw things, just like your mother. And people were so dull, so predictable and easy to use, and the things you saw were so terrifying. You were so young and too stoned to see past that, to see the wonders of the earth. You screwed up, Laura, because you wanted to badly to just  _be_ , to be more than anyone else, that it drove you into destroying yourself because you didn't think you could.

"You were too much and too little at the same time, and that crushed you, didn't it? You told me to forgive myself, and I think I can. The question is—can you?"

There were tears running down Laura's cheeks, and she smiled ruefully. "I wish I'd met you sooner, Agent Cooper. You really know how to make someone feel better about themselves."

"I aim to please."

"I was so scared."

"I know."

"But I'm not scared anymore. I helped you, truly helped you, and you let me. You believed in me, too, for a while. Donna and James always thought they could see past me somehow; and Harold did because I told him so many stories. I told Donne I wanted her to never become like me, but she didn't get it—how could she have done? I never told her my secrets."

"Audrey once said she understood you better than the rest."

"Poor little rich girl. She may have. What with insanity running in her family, she certainly knew the score."

"Why didn't you talk to her?"

"Why didn't you talk to Albert about Audrey? From what your memories tell me, he knows what it's like to covet something he feels he shouldn't."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, you'll know when you see it."

"How did we get from helping you move on to the afterlife to Agent Rosenfield's love life?"

"Good question."

"Another question: why did you kiss me?"

"Because my instincts told me to."

"I think you're ready, then."

"We're both ready."

A white light started to filter in from above, and Dale stood to move behind Laura. A hand on her shoulder, he smiled down at her as she stared into the distance, before looking up at him and starting to cry anew. She smiled widely as she looked into the light and called for her father.

As she slowly faded, Dale looked on and felt his body begin to tremble as things at the other end of his tether got violent.

* * *

Albert jumped in his seat as Coop's body suddenly started trembling and trashing around, straining against the straps securing him on the bed. He grabbed another syringe and checked his watch—Dale shouldn't have gotten so lively again for another three hours. Albert considered getting Sheriff Truman from his room down the hall, but the decision was temporarily taken out of his hands as Coop ripped his left arm out of the restrains and struggled to sit up. Albert lunged for the light switch, and what he saw made his blood run cold: the younger man's eyes were as wide as those of a panicked horse, but what was glistening in them wasn't fear—it was fury.

In the Lodge, Dale crouched on the floor, trying to regulate his breathing, to stay in control as well as he could. He had to keep Albert and Harry safe. He knew that truly controlling a demon and his own soul fragment was beyond his reach with the little practice he'd had, but he'd managed to manipulate them once, perhaps he could avert another catastrophe simply by digging his heels in, too.

Albert didn't know what had gotten dear Bob so angry, but considering the spasms that were wrecking Coop's body, and his theory about a connection to the "good Dale" in the Lodge, he could guess who might have had something to do with that. When Bob/Dale started mumbling disjointed phrases, his suspicions were confirmed.

"Stupid fool… you're wrong… you don't know what you're doing… DON'T TAKE HER AWAY FROM ME, SHE'S MINE!"

With that, Bob arched off the mattress, the restrains tearing with the sickening crunching noise of rupturing tissue. Albert, who'd been trying to find a vein on Bob's leg to inject him with the drug, was shoved backwards into the wall, his head and spine cracking at the impact. He cursed, and made a quick decision.

"Harry!" he hollered. "Sheriff Truman, get in here RIGHT NOW!"

He was taking a risk, because there was no way Bob wouldn't take notice of him now, and Albert hated being a target for sexually psychotic, murderous demons, but he couldn't hide in the shadows and let him get away. And to restrain him, he needed help, loath though he was to admit it. Keeping a good grip on the syringe that, fortunately, didn't shatter in his hand as he went down, Albert levered himself up into a low squatting position, ready to pedal off his feet. Bob had quieted down for a moment, and was staring at him. Albert couldn't read his expression, but he felt like a piece of meat being picked out for Sunday lunch. The creature in Coop's body slowly advanced in him, baring its teeth. In that moment, the door burst open, and Sheriff Truman came to a halt to his right, gun trained on their involuntary guest.

"Why isn't he out of him yet?" He asked with a quick glance in Albert's direction, taking in his fight-ready position and deciding he was alright.

Bob hissed at him, but didn't come closer. Albert narrowed his eyes as he took in the demon's posture and body language, and now he was sure his conclusions had been correct.

"It's Coop, on the other side. He's got him. Help me sedate him, then we can call Major Fighter Pilot. I think this is what we've been told to wait for."

They counted to three by blinking at each other, then they both lunged forward and pounced. Bob howled and clawed at them with his hands, but Harry pressed his gun to the demon's temple and used his entire weight to hold him down as Albert forcibly stretched out his right arm, kept it still, and jammed the needle in. Just before Coop's eyes rolled back into his head, Harry focused on his gaze and spoke quickly, but intently: "We've got you, Coop. If you're in there, hold on." Moments later, the body still, his breathing evened out, and Albert motioned for Harry to sit back.

"Do you think he heard me?"

Albert shrugged by way of an answer, and Harry leaned forward to grab the phone off the table in the corner. "Andy—get the Major out of bed and to the Great Northern immediately. We think it's time to take Agent Cooper into the woods again."

* * *

Half an hour later, they were briefing Major Briggs, hoping that tonight was the night.

"I hadn't expected it to happen so soon," said the Major, slowly pacing the length of the room. "Agent Rosenfield, could you repeat  _exactly_  what he said?"

Albert gave an impatient huff, but calmed when Harry leaned closer from where he was standing behind him, at an angle, to keep an eye on the body on the bed.

"He said, 'Stupid fool… you're wrong… you don't know what you're doing…' and then he started yelling, 'Don't take her away from me, she's mine'."

The Major nodded absentmindedly, paced a few more rounds, mumbling to himself.

"What was that…  _sir_?"

The older man drew a brow, but didn't comment on Albert's provocative tone. "I'm reasonably sure he meant Laura Palmer. Agent Cooper must have done his job well. Gentlemen—I think it's time. We can take him to Glastonberry Grove, as soon as possible." With that, Briggs rubbed his hands together and left the room. Albert sneered a little at his retreating back, while Harry turned to say something, but stopped in his tracks.

"He got you, Albert. There's a nasty scratch on your temple."

Albert raised his left hand to his face, it came away bloody, and slowly he became aware of a bit of pain exuding from the injury on his forehead and from the back of his head. He signalled for Andy to keep watch, and then stepped into the bathroom to wet a towel and clean the wound. It wasn't deep, but it wouldn't do to leave it unattended. Harry stepped beside him with a first aid kit from Albert's bag and a bottle of iodine. Silently, they worked to disinfect the wound and secure a patch of gauze with band-aids.  _There_ , Albert thought,  _no trouble at all. Just don't think about the resident Sheriff's fingers smoothing out the edges for you. Damn._

"I guess there's no point telling you to stay here and get checked for concussion," Harry said as he noticed how Albert winced and gingerly touched the bump on the back of his head from when he'd crashed into the wall.

"Nope," the forensics expert replied with a withering glare.

"Alright. Let's get him cuffed and in the car. We need to get out there before dawn."


	9. You See, We Like Each Other, Dale and I

Harry felt ridiculous, steering a wheelchair holding the unconscious body of Special Agent Cooper while walking next to Major Briggs towards the grove in the woods. He thought back to the last time he'd camped out on a log a few feet away from the entrance to the Lodge, just to have Coop return to him inhabited by a demon. He couldn't even imagine how that had felt for Albert who'd known the man for nearly a decade; or for Audrey—neither of the two had ever said anything, but it was obvious to anyone with eyeballs that they were hoping to become closer than their proclaimed friendship let them for the moment. Worse still, Harry felt for Annie: after the trauma she'd gone through, the one person who could have helped her was the one she was the most terrified of, and with good reason. Harry himself tried not to think about it too much. Dale had become his friend, as strange and quirky as he was. As he'd told the FBI sniffer dogs, Coop was the best damn lawman he'd ever met, and he could only hope that they would get him out of this mess with his quirks intact, if not his virtue. Harry glanced over his shoulder at Albert grumbling his way through the woods behind him—he didn't want to consider what it would do to the surly forensics expert of they couldn't fix this. With a start, the Sheriff realized that seeing Albert hurt nearly scared him more than the whole situation already had.

When they arrived at the grove, the Major turned and addressed Albert.

"Could you give me the antidote now, Agent Rosenfield? I'll administer it when we're safely in, rather than out here."

"Of course," Albert replied, handing him a small poach containing the syringe with the liquid which would— _should_ —counter the drug Albert had been dosing Cooper with and thus release the raging spirit into the confines of the Lodge. With Major Briggs' help, the "good Dale" had to use all his wits to get himself back together, and to keep Bob under control. The Major had expressed hopes that others—the one-armed man, the Man from Another Place, or the Giant might help them with that, but no-one had a clue whether that hope would be fulfilled.

While Andy and Hawk busied themselves with setting up a little camping table with at least six cans of coffee. They grabbed an assortment of blankets from the Sheriff's truck's trunk. The two deputies would have to go back to the Sheriff station in case another emergency came in. After they left, the Major, Harry, and Albert were on their own, with Cooper in that damn wheelchair. Briggs was weighing the syringe in his hand—when the moment came, he'd have to be quick. They didn't know how Dale's body would react upon entering the Lodge. If he started to struggle, subduing him right away might the only chance to make the one shot that he had count. In the Lodge, injuring his own body in a fight would mean harming a soul fragment, not just a few bruises on his shin. Bob letting him go would most likely be painful—and dangerous—enough. Albert checked his vitals one last time, and that he'd given the Major the right syringe; then, there was nothing left for him to do. Harry gave him a pat on the shoulder as he turned away and went over to the log.

"Good luck, Major. And, thank you," Harry wasn't in the mood for a pep talk, and he felt it wouldn't have been appreciated if he had been.

"Thank you, Sheriff Truman—Agent Rosenfield," the Major nodded in deference to the FBI agent sulking on his wooden perch. "We'll see each other on the other side."

Harry didn't quite know if he found this last statement trust-inspiring, but he let it go. Instead, he watched Briggs and Coop disappear within the darkness of the grove, until he caught a glimpse of red velvet, just for a second. Then, both of them shimmered out of view, along with the curtains. He sighed and went over to Albert, grabbing a blanket off the table on the way. "This is going to be a long night and day."

Albert just grunted what Harry took to be confirmation. After that, both fell silent. And waited.

As soon as they passed the entrance, Briggs sensed more than saw Cooper's body starting to trash around in his wheelchair, straining to get away. He clamped down one hand on the younger man's shoulder to keep him in the chair, while using his other arm and lower body to push him forward—he couldn't inject him with the antidote before they'd reached the Red Room. From his right, he suddenly heard several earth-shattering screams, then a groan. Cooper, underneath his hand, settled down a little. Briggs decided he was on the right track, so he turned the corner and fought to find the opening in the curtains, leaning over Cooper's body, always keeping half an eye on him, lest he attacked him in this vulnerable position. The Major tried not to think about his upper chest and throat so dangerously exposed and focused on the curtains. Finally, he found the fold and, holding it to the side with one arm, pushed the chair in. What he saw as he entered the room took his breath away.

* * *

After Laura had left, Dale had collapsed on the floor. He had felt Bob's anger flare dangerously, and had struggled to yank on his chain to keep Albert and Harry at least relatively safe. Bob's distress at feeling Laura move on to a proper afterlife, even reconciling with her father Leland had been so great that Dale's metabolism had practically vaporized the drug in his system. Dale had "watched," one might call it, by spying on his second half's thought processes as Harry helped Albert hold him down to administer another dose. Things had calmed down since then, but there was a lingering sense of almost certain doom settling in his gut. He took a while to calm down and concentrate on what might happen next—Dale's body outside had been aware enough to register that they had plans to bring Bob/Dale back to the Lodge. In that case, he needed to be ready.

This feeling of distress had gotten worse over the last half hour, and now Dale was sure they were coming. Of course, he couldn't see or hear anything going on outside, but he could nearly taste them getting closer on his tongue. Something in the air had changed, and Dale's hackles literally rose in the wake of the icy warning that trickled down his spine.

After that came the pain.

It felt as if someone was drilling a hole into his skull, and another into his back— _really_  slowly, to make it last. Dale, who hadn't even risen from his position on the floor, half leaning against one of the armchairs, screamed as the half of his mind he had left was clawing at the sort of physical form he had in this place to reconnect with the missing half. His eyes burnt, his dry throat ached, and his ear drums felt as if they were tearing themselves apart. dale continued screaming in anguish, all the while trying to regain control over his head. He couldn't merge with his other half now, or he might get dragged down into that maelstrom of hatred and fear. With almost Herculean effort, he forced his mind to stop fighting to get out and to stay quiet instead if it didn't want to get eaten. He groaned as the pain slowly subsided and then swivelled his head around as he noticed the curtains to his left rustle. Sitting up slowly, he watched the velvet folds part to reveal—himself, and Major Briggs.

For a moment, they just stared at each other, transfixed. Then, Dale nodded towards the syringe in Briggs' hand. "Do it. Wake me up, I want to talk to me."

The Major eyed him speculatively for a second, but then wasted no time in jamming the needle into Bob/Dale's right arm. The body jerked and ached; it took about a minute for the antidote to do its job completely. When it was over, Dale's possessed body slumped a little, then rose with a mighty cry—Dale watched, half-horrified, half-smug, as Bob appeared out of thin air next to them, sputtering in anger, hissing at them, but still too addled by the drugs to do anything seriously threatening. Dale regarded him with steady apprehension, and then advanced on his Meanwhile, who was now reclining in the wheelchair, trying to regulate his breathing. As Dale came closer, he snarled at him, but Dale felt no fear. The fear, after all, the thing that Bob fed on, was now snug and safe within his Meanwhile, along with all the anger and the darkness. Dale knew that he had to control the reunion, or else he'd just be ripped apart gain. He would have to welcome all those things, be aware of all the traits and thoughts he had that Bob found usable within him—and accept them. But he had to fight the demon first, then finish him off by calling what he was supposed to be afraid of back into his soul.

He bowed down until he was eye-to-eye with himself, and smiled, which seemed to irritate his Meanwhile greatly.

"Soon," he crooned, "we're going to be back together." He saw his own, though milky, eyes widen, and grinned. Then, he turned on his heel while straightening up, and looked at Bob, who narrowed his eyes at him. Dale surreptitiously signalled for the Major to stay close to the wheelchair and then slowly circled the demon. He didn't say a word, just walked around him once, as if sizing him up. The demon seemed determined to remain distinctly unimpressed, but Dale had shared a head with him, though hiding behind the thoughts of the Meanwhile, so he liked to think he knew better. By rights, he should.

"She's gone," he murmured close to Bob's ear, before moving forward to stop right in front of his face. Bob was breathing harshly through his nose, his mouth was contorted into a grimace of bloodlust and disdain; his lips drawn back to reveal his teeth, and his jaw was grinding. His fists were clenching and unclenching: he wanted to attack, but couldn't; the drugs had made him a little woozy. Dale leaned ever closer and whispered, "You lost her, Bobby. She moved on, she had enough of you. No matter what you did to her, the hold you had on her is broken. You cast your spell on her, though yours was no magic, just delusion. You abused and corrupted her, you robbed her of her joy and her belief that she should live, for her own sake. Everyone knows that everything dies. But you made her like it, and the sky turns dark when someone does. You made her world depend on it, and, for a healthy set of values, that is not a safe place to stand. You made her believe in the decay of the human soul as the answer to everything. You know, teaching her about the human condition could have been  _so_  much simpler."

With the anger, Bob's awareness was coming back. With effort, he pulled himself up and spoke, even if slurred. "She was mine, you rat. I have lived among humans for longer than you could imagine, in houses built of wood and stone, and I've played with the children. Because children like to play with fire—little boys, little girls, and I let them walk with fire. Good little girls, you know, like Laura, and good little boys like her father—when I had her, I could lead them both into the fire."

"Oh, of course you're proud of yourself. But then there was that dashing FBI agent who came along and messed up your act. Leland is gone, Bob, and Laura moved on. She understood what you did to her, and she realized that you made her reject what she loved. But she's got it now. She forgave herself."

"Now who's proud of himself?"

"Witty comebacks, Bob, from a sex-crazed demon who kills little girls for fun? Really, there are things between heaven and earth, apparently, in the waiting room between especially."

"And I will make sure that you will never leave that waiting room. I caught you with my death bag!"

"And I will drag the cat out of the bag and put myself together again!"

Major Briggs looked back and forth between the two of them, trying to decide whether it was a good thing that he had expected a lot, just not… this.

"Will you, now?"

"Ooh, Bob, did you really think this making me insecurity routine was going to work?"

"Oh, but Agent Cooper. Did  _you_  really think that your soul has anything on me? Your soul belongs to me now, because you will not get over your fears. This half of you might think that you've gotten past the hideous mistakes you've made, but you haven't, not when the rest of you catches up with you. Your past is riddled with your faults and the people you have hurt and killed, and that is why your soul cracked. It cracked, and the tiny little splinters have spread all over, not meant for you to reassemble them. Remember that girl? You loved her, and you were so frightened. The entire time, even while you lay in her bed, you were scared. You were tearing into yourself for hurting the man she belonged to, and you were afraid, because you had promised to protect her. You promised to protect her, but you didn't. You failed, didn't you? You couldn't protect her because you didn't  _think_. You pride yourself in your knowledge, but you didn't think who to protect her from. She's dead, Cooper. You slept with her, led her astray, and then you killed her. And then you went off and snatched up another girl—you let a murderer bring her here, because you were in love with a cold, dead body. A few weeks later, you almost kill her yourself. That is an unimpressive track record."

Dale had to take a moment to compose himself. This was what Laura had warned him of, and he could feel his nerves straining a little. He had steeled himself for this, for the attacks, for the ripping into the wounds he had so carefully let scab over until now. The trick was to peel the scabs off carefully—and with purpose. "It's not going to work, Bob. These simple lies will not work on me."

"So are we just to have a little tug-o'-war, chasing each other around like little girls fighting over the pink tutu? I saw little girls do that once. It was one of them or Laura's father. When I glimpsed her in his future, I knew what I wanted."

"We are not going to have a tug-o'-war, though that would certainly be interesting—because the pink tutu is mine. I told you that these simple lies will not work on me, for just once in your miserable existence, you are telling the truth, Bob." As soon as the words left his mouth, Dale was slightly surprised at actually feeling better about himself. Talk about acceptance being good stuff. Before Bob could get a word in edgewise, Dale pressed on. "You're right. I made mistakes, and it hurt two women I loved. The first time, I wasn't there to save her. The second time, you used my body and my mind, but there are things you can't see past that, because you have no heart. You weren't alone in there. Oh, didn't you notice?" he added at Bob's confused expression. "Oh, I was there. I guided you through nearly murdering Annie, isn't that nice? I left breadcrumbs so the others would find us, and I goaded you on until you did something stupid—like taking Audrey, too, which would slow you down. I used you. I used the things you use in humans, I found them in you, and I manipulated you. I made mistakes, and they brought us there. Us. I embraced the horrible things I did instead of running away from them. I realized who it really was that drove me towards Annie, and that I let myself spiral down like that because there is one important thing you have to know about me: I need the darkness, Bob. I need that other part of myself, because with the job that I'm doing, the abyss I'm staring into all the time, I changed. You can't do the job I'm doing without being affected by it, and you can't do it well without liking it. I like my job. I like the abyss—I stand on the edge of that volcano, and I  _dance_. I dance to the tune of your murders, Bob."

Slowly, Dale had stepped closer to the other Dale in the wheelchair, and with each more millimetre, he could feel his skin tingling more insistently. He felt a surge of nervousness in his stomach, but squashed it. Judging by the look on Bob's face, his strategy was working. He needed to turn the tables, and it was working. He'd have to wing the rest of it, because he didn't know how exactly to sew himself back together, but when he was only a step away from himself, his skin started stinging, too, as if something was pulling on it.  _Oh God, are we going to meld? Literally?_  Dale had to stop himself from making a face and yelling, 'Gross!'  _Oh_. The quirks were coming back full force—he really did need his dark side, didn't he?

With one decisive last step, he stepped right next to himself and put his hand on bad Dale's shoulder. He had to suppress a gasp as he felt electricity crackle and a fire burning on his knuckles, but he waited it out until he could go on talking.

"You see, we like each other, Dale and I."

Bob growled and pushed himself closer to them; Dale tightened his hold on his other half's shoulder.

"I'm not saying I approve of you, Bob, but I can certainly appreciate the business you've been putting my way. In order to get you to do what I wanted, I had to absorb myself. I had to hide behind the part of your shared mind that you had reserved for bad Dale here, and for that I had to bond with him a little. Bonding is very important, you know, especially when you have a quirky reputation to uphold. So I talked a little to myself while you were otherwise occupied sniffing the girls out, and I let little Dale talk to you for a minute. I cheered him on, and he liked it—you really are too harsh with him, you know."

"How did you do that?" Bob was wheezing a little, as Dale noted with quiet satisfaction.

"Oh, I just befriended myself in the time you were gone, you know. Laura was a really good teacher. I am who I am, Bob. And if that includes what I did, then I'm going to have to live with it. I stand on the edge of that volcano and I dance. It's what I do, and if my intuition weren't working anymore, then none of this would be making any sense to you; but apparently it does, because you are shaking and trying to get to me to rip me off him. It's just that going by the feeling in my hand—it's like I'm getting soaked into my other body—it really is working, which means that it's too late for you to do anything by this point. And as soon as I'm out of here, I'm going to swing by Annie's and tell her that I'm sorry, and that I wasn't really there for her because someone else made my life a living hell, that I couldn't be what she needed. I'm in love with another woman, and she is what  _I_  need. She saved me, and I put her at risk to buy Annie some time—she's not even going to hate me for that, you know. She accepts the dark side, because they have cookies there. She loves me, and I hope that she'll be there in a few years when I can come back for her. I'm sure she will be. And for that, I need to be whole. There's no stopping me, no matter how much truth you're talking. Huh, look at that. My hand's being absorbed, it's like he's eating me up. You ever see that, Bob, a Meanwhile eating its original from the wrong end? Words win wars, don't they?"

Bob did lunge himself at them now, but the Major suddenly jumped into action and blocked his path. The demon clawed at him, then tried to get past him, but Briggs held him back as best he could, digging his heels in quite effectively. In the meantime, Dale felt his minds connect, and, from a distance, heard a voice shouting at him. With a start, he realized it was his own voice.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING? YOU SUDDENLY LIKE ME NOW? YOU, LIKING YOURSELF? ARE YOU MAD? OH, THIS IS NEVER GOING TO WORK, DALE BARTHOLOMEW COOPER."

Dale gritted his teeth and clenched his jaw, preparing himself for the onslaught of emotions that was going to follow the voice. He kept thinking to himself,  _It'll be fine, I know that part of me, there's nothing I could surprise myself with. Denial might be a beautiful thing, but I've worked that out by now._ He thought about reconsidering that the moment his mind was nearly torn apart as the two Dale's melded into one. Memories flitted past his inner eye: memories of Caroline's dead body in his arms, memories of the afternoon he spent with Annie, the way they'd held hands after their little boating trip, and the way Bob in his body's same hand had held the knife he'd nearly stabbed her to death with. Dale remembered, and he fought hard not to let it overwhelm him. His eyes watered with unshed tears, and he reminded himself that he had come so far, he wouldn't give up now. Laura would not have moved on, would not have gone through all that pain for nothing. It knocked the wind out of him when he felt all the fear that had been exiled from his mind for the past few weeks, and he was a little surprised at all the anxiety he'd had stashed away there, along with all the anger. Oh, he was an angry, angry man, but he countered it with the acceptance he'd dredged up. Having previous experience with that particular part of his soul, he knew how to field the temper tantrums before they occurred—count to 100 and keep calm in the face of the shitstorm. While the molecules of his physical form were dismantling and restructuring, Dale marvelled at the magnificent amount of pain a consciousness could be in.

When he came to again, he was standing in front of the wheelchair, trying to clear the black spots impeding his vision. Succeeding at that, he became aware of the Major still wrestling with Bob, who now suddenly went limp. Exchanging a surprised glance, Dale and the Major missed the Man from Another Place appearing from behind Bob. When they did look back, they jumped slightly, and Dale cursed under his breath.

"What are you doing here? And what's up with him?"

The little man smiled at him. "Back in one piece, I see?"

Dale looked down his body, and patted his stomach. "Yep, I'm good."

"Then you should leave."

"But—" Dale pointed at Bob, who had been placed on the floor by the Major, "what about him?"

"We will deal with him."

"But how? What are you going to do?"

"That is none of your concern."

"Come on, what are you doing to do with him?"

"You need to go."

"But—"

The little man snipped his fingers, and two seconds later, Dale and Major Briggs found themselves standing outside in the woods, Harry and Albert staring at them with bleary eyes.


	10. There Are Shadows Out There

Standing across from a perplexed sheriff and a creeped-out FBI agent, Dale found his voice before the Major.

"This is not good. Then again, of course it is! It's me! I'm out! I'm back! Ooh, I need coffee, is that coffee? Harry! Albert! It's so good to see you two again, I hope you haven't been waiting too long. I'm sorry we didn't bring the wheelchair back along with us, props aren't really the midget's strong suit. Well," he exclaimed, rubbing his hands and balancing on the balls of his feet, "what are we up to now?" With one last excited grin, Agent Cooper's eyes rolled back into his head, and he passed out. Briggs managed to catch his dead weight before he could whack his head on the floor, and Harry and Albert stumbled as they got up to help.

"How long were we gone?" the Major asked, eyeing the stubble on both of the other men's cheeks.

"Three days," answered Albert while checking Cooper's vitals.

"We were getting worried there, Major," Harry added.

"Oh, you needn't have," Briggs retorted. "Agent Cooper did a fine job."

"So is everything back to normal now? At least as normal as it gets in this Disneyland for ghosts and creeps," groused Albert from where he crouched next to his colleague's unconscious body.

"Yes," the Major murmured, suddenly staring ahead, into the woods, as if checking for something he wasn't sure was there. "Entirely back to normal."

There was a whisper going through the leaves at that moment, a soft breeze rustling branches and eliciting a message that the Sheriff wasn't sure he wanted to hear right then.

"Let's get Coop to the hospital, I'm sure Doc Hayward can help us out. Albert, I'll help you carry him to the track. Major, could you…?"

"Of course." Major Briggs busied himself with the camping table and the blankets while the other two heaved their indisposed friend onto the back of the truck. Albert opted to stay up there with him, so the Major could ride in the front with Harry. With another glance back at the grove, they drove off.

* * *

Audrey tried to fend off the nurse that was hovering over her to replace the butterfly bandage she had on a small cut on her forehead—Bob hadn't been exactly careful, what with a girl on each arm and several doorways to get through. When she finally got the nurse off her back, she went in to sit by Annie's bed. Somehow, they had managed to stabilize her again, and although she was being given artificial respiration, the doctors seemed confident she'd pull through. The young sergeant that had been injured that night as well, however, hadn't been quite so lucky: Audrey had heard the nurses talking. He had lost too much blood, he didn't make it. When she took Annie's hand, she felt a shiver slowly creeping along her spine. She hunched up her shoulder and drew her jacket tighter around her body—she just wanted this to be over. These chills she kept getting told her it wasn't.

Another nurse appeared at her side and Audrey steadily ignored her—Annie needed company, a hand to hold hers, even if she was unconscious. After a minute, the nurse cleared her throat and gently touched her arm.

"There is someone to see you, miss. You have to step out if you want to talk to them, we can't have too many people traipsing around in the ICU."

Audrey sighed and got up, giving Annie's hand another squeeze before leaving the room. Outside stood Sheriff Truman, looking decidedly the worse for wear, so she ran over to him.

"Sheriff Truman! What happened? It's been three days! They say Annie's going to be breathing on her own by tomorrow. But—I'm sorry, Sergeant McGee didn't make it. How… what happened to Agent Cooper? Is he OK?"

Harry looked around for somewhere to sit down, then took her by the shoulder and guided her to a few plastic chairs lined up at the wall.

"It seems that everything has gone well. We brought Coop back with us, and there's a good chance he's OK. You know,  _sane_ , completely himself. I don't know what happened to Bob yet, but he hasn't got him anymore: there's no good and bad Dale, just… Coop. Little crazy, but no crazier than usual, or before."

Audrey breathed a sigh of relief and sagged against the Sheriff's shoulder a little.

"Is he here? Can I see him?"

"He's been asking for you, actually. He's probably asleep by now, he keeps blinking in an out, but he'll come around. Are you alright? I could take you to his room."

"I'm fine. Please take me to him, but someone has to sit with Annie."

A nurse stepped up to them. "I can do that, miss. I'm on a break, I can sit with her. Dr Jacoby called, he'll come down to take over later. She won't be alone."

"Thank you," Audrey smiled at the young woman, then turned to Harry. "Where is he?"

"Come on."

Harry led her along the corridors that made hospitals unique and yet identical. Pale pastel walls with railing for patients to hold on to, posters and bulletin boards full of advice and appeals to give blood and use protection. The odd stretcher standing around, or a bed carrying a patient who was waiting for a room to clear or a nurse to wheel them in to do an x-ray. Nurses and doctors bustling around, always busy answering pages or making their rounds. Audrey had spent much of her last stint in hospital looking out the door at all these people, smelling that odour of antiseptic and cleaning equipment that must have embedded itself everywhere—the sheets, the walls, people's skin.

As Audrey stood in the doorway of Dale's room, she took a minute to catalogue all the small ways this man was different from the monster that had abducted her. Even in his unconscious state, she could tell. The mirth seemed to have returned to his face. During that night they'd spent together talking (after Audrey had surprised him by lying in his bed when he turned in for the evening and he'd told her that what he wanted and what he needed were two different things), she'd had seen him asleep. She'd seen him unconscious while Bob had been inhabiting him: seeing him now was like a vision of better days. She hesitated a moment longer, but then she went in, sat at his bedside, and took his hand.

Outside the room, Albert stepped up next to Harry and surreptitiously put an arm around the Sheriff's waist. "You think they gonna be alright?"

"They're strong, they've been through a lot together. Remind me again—how exactly did we get to this?"

"I apologized for not saying hello properly when I came in from Seattle this time. Specifically, I apologized for not being sure about your allegiances since you'd called me behind Coop's back. Do you have to go on and on about this?"

"Sorry, I'm just still havin' a hard time believing that Agent Rosenfield apologized for not hugging me."

"I felt bad."

"So I gather. Oh, no," Harry added quickly, "stay where you are. I didn't mean it like that."

Albert, who'd started pulling away, settled back in. "I heard the young sergeant didn't make it. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, he was a good boy. And I hate that someone has to tell Coop when he comes around. It's bad enough that someone was using a bad carbon copy of him to do all of that that night. Do you think he will remember?"

"I'm not sure, but my guess is that he will."

"Would you rather he didn't?"

"Well, it's not exactly like having your mother tell embarrassing stories about you as a kid, incidents you have no conscious recollection of—good riddance, I say. He used the connection between them to influence the course of events, it's what made reuniting the two halves possible in the first place. It's an integral part of who he was, who he is, who he will be. He will want to know—but in order to understand, he'll have to remember. It's the only way he can recover."

"Even if those memories hurt him?"

"Oh, he'll wish he could forget. But I know Coop—and so do you. If someone had offered to take his memories of Caroline and Pittsburgh away, would he have done it?"

"Never."

"Exactly."

They continued watching Audrey and Coop for a minute, until Harry couldn't help himself anymore and yawned languidly.

"Say, Albert, do we actually have anywhere to be right now?"

"I don't think so. Gordon won't be here 'til three. Why?"

"I just really, really want a proper shower and a bed. Not that I don't enjoy a wash basin in the woods, a log to sit on all day, and a sleeping bag on the back of the truck to nap for an hour, but… I'm dead on my feet."

"You look it, too. I know, as do I. Also, screw the wash basin, I'm pretty sure we smell like a pack of skunks. Come on, then. Off out."

* * *

Four days later, Dale sat at Annie's bedside, smiling down at her. He was going to be released any minute, but she had asked for him to sit with her before he left.

"I don't think you'd want to see me ever again. I… I am so sorry, Annie. I know that no apology will ever make up for what I did to you, what Bob did to you using me, but I want to you to know that I never intended to put you in harm's way—emotionally or physically. I'm not asking for forgiveness, just that maybe, one day, you can remember me as  _me_ —not as a monster. I was mad; mad with grief, and frightened, and I shouldn't have held on to you while down that rabbit hole."

With effort, because her body was still weak from the attack, Annie raised her hand to catch his, a touch she would have recoiled from a week ago. She smiled sadly. "I believe you. Don't torture yourself."

"What about you?"

"Should I stay or should I go… I don't know yet. Dr Jacoby is a good listener, though."

"If anyone can help you, it's him."

"Are you going to stay?"

"For a bit longer. There's a case still open, and I want to see it through. It's to Laura Palmer's credit that we even caught on to it—I want to be there to see it done. After that, Seattle will want me back."

"Will you be coming back?"

"Someday, I'm sure. I've got… a deal to make good on."

"Audrey?" Annie's hand slipped from his.

"I'm sorry, Annie."

"Don't," Annie retorted, a hint of anger colouring her voice. "You've done enough, and that includes apologizing."

Dale smiled—anger seemed to be a good sign of healing for those with estranged souls on both sides of human existence. "I think I should go. Doctors want to discharge me." He walked towards the door and turned, the hand already on the doorknob. "Goodbye, Annie."

"Goodbye, Dale."

* * *

Harry and Albert were waiting in the parking lot as Dale stepped out of the entrance to the A&E. He regarded them for a moment before walking towards them, hiding a smile as he did.

"Those three nights and days out in the wild must have done you some good, gentlemen," he said as he reached them. "This is the first I've seen of you since I got out."

The other two shared a speculative look before turning back to Coop.

"Let me guess: body language?"

"That, Harry, and the fact that you've been using the same soap for several days, and more recently than you've been sharing that wash basin in the woods."

"Squirrels would viciously murder for your nose, Coop."

"Oh, I'd offer my services for free. Should we get going?"

"Gordon said he won't be in again before five. He's been busy shovelling his way through a selection of the finest pies the Double R has to offer."

Dale grinned—the wonders of Shelly, pie, and good hearing. "Good, can we go to the Great Northern first, then? Audrey's busy keeping the hotel running now that her father and her uncle have been implicated in the mill investigation, but I promised her to stop by as soon as I get out of the hospital."

The doctors had given Dale a clean bill of health, and Dr Jacoby had examined him closely to make sure there was nothing… lingering. It had taken him a day to metabolize all the drugs that he'd been given, but there had been no discernible effects on his behaviour.

"Besides," Dale continued, "I need to pick up an old friend."

On the way to the Great Northern, Dale couldn't help but ask: "What exactly happened to you two, then?"

Albert turned to look at his colleague and friend in the back seat. "You probably had it figured out long before we did."

"Oh, you know. I could see your trust grow, along with affection and loyalty. So much so, in fact, that Albert stopped complaining about coming to Twin Peaks, and Harry stopped bristling at everything you said. I wasn't sure at first, but the disaster with Josie revealed a stack of conflicting emotions so high the giant from my dreams could have hidden behind it."

"I guess you're right," Harry replied, and Albert laughed, but sobered.

"Do you want to know what happened, or not?"

"Oh, I'm all ears."

Albert nodded and started talking.

* * *

_The two men had been sitting next to each other on that log for at least three hours before one of them abruptly spoke._

" _I'm sorry, by the way."_

" _About what?"_

" _About Josie, for starters. I wish I could've been wrong."_

" _That's new. A wise man told me that one day it would help to know she was a hardened criminal. He's right."_

" _He is a wise man. Hopefully still will be when he gets out of there."_

" _Yeah."_

" _I'm sorry for… not quite trusting you when you called me about Coop. I didn't like going behind his back, though it wasn't quite_ his _back at the time. Now, I feel like a hypocrite. After all, Coop and I hid the evidence concerning your girlfriend from you."_

" _You were trying to protect me."_

" _Exactly. When you called, you were trying to protect not just Coop, but a lot of other people, too. You were keeping your town safe, and I doubted you, though I knew that Coop trusted you implicitly."_

" _It's OK, Albert. You've known Coop much longer than me, and you're working for the same agency. I'd get suspicious if someone started bypassing my people, too."_

" _Which one of you did I hug?"_

" _What?"_

" _When I came into town before you arrested first Ben Horne and then Leland Palmer, who got the hug?"_

" _I did."_

" _Exactly. It doesn't matter how long I've known you. I've made my choice to trust you, and I should've stood by it."_

" _Albert, are you apologizing for not hugging me when you came back?"_

" _And what if I am?"_

" _Then I'll say, 'You're forgiven,' and talk no more of it."_

" _Thank you. I really did feel bad."_

" _Why?"_

" _Because I just vanished after you caught Josie. And then, when you ask me for help, I act like that."_

" _Why did you vanish?"_

" _Are you kidding? I thought you'd clock me again. Not that I felt guilty for processing evidence correctly, but you were upset, and I wouldn't have blamed you if you'd taken it out on me."_

" _I did yell at Coop a lot."_

" _So he told me."_

_Harry chuckled, and they fell silent again for a few minutes._

" _Albert?"_

" _Yes?"_

" _Earlier, when we were driving to the school… we were talking about something. You said something else had been weird for you. What was it?"_

" _Harry, didn't we agree we'd talk about this when this thing is over?"_

" _We've got time now. And I want to know what's been troubling you."_

" _You were. Are you sure you want to know?"_

" _I was?"_

" _Look, Sheriff, I'm not one to beat about the bush. If you find that what I'm going to tell you makes you uncomfortable, you brought this on yourself."_

" _Tell me."_

"  _I found I liked you more than I should have, and I didn't know what to do about it. I've told you before that I love all creatures of the earth, but I do not share my fries with anybody. When I had all the evidence, I didn't want to be the one to tell you, because I didn't want you to have to arrest your girlfriend. At the same time, I really wanted her arrested even if she hadn't done what she did."_

" _You mean…"_

" _Yes."_

" _Oh."_

" _Uncomfortable yet?"_

" _No, just surprised. I didn't think… I thought I was being stupid when I nearly got more upset with you having to be the one to handle Josie's case than about losing her like that. I thought I was being stupid when I tried to hate you for doing that to me, but failed because I already liked you too much. I wanted you to be there after she died."_

" _What are you saying?"_

" _I'm saying: do we want to try and make this work?"_

" _We'd have to make sure."_

" _Take it slowly."_

" _I don't do this for kicks."_

" _Nor do I."_

* * *

In the backseat, Dale grinned.

"I'm glad you finally sorted it out. From what I heard from Hawk and Ed when they visited me yesterday, they were this close to starting a betting pool," he chuckled, and started laughing freely when Harry and Albert groaned in unison. Albert was glad they hadn't gone past a few kisses yet—they'd been too wired and too focused on red alerts from the grove (or the hospital, while they'd been staying at Harry's the past few days) to relax and get into a situation that might have made quick armed response difficult—or Dale would have needled that out of them as well. Not that he wasn't a trustworthy secret-keeper, but he wasn't sure he could handle the twinkle in his colleague's eye if it got permanent.

When they finally arrived at the hotel, Albert and Harry went in with Dale to see how the search of the offices and rooms of Ben and Jerry Horne was coming along—they still hadn't found all the information they needed to nail the case conclusively, but they hoped that, together with the material they found at the Packards', they would be able to close the investigation soon. If convicted, it would land the Horne brothers and Catherine Martell a less than modest stretch in prison—it was unlikely they'd manage to weasel themselves out this time. The paper trail left behind was difficult to uncover, but once they'd known what to look for, Coop—while he'd still been inhabited by Bob—and Andy had found the pieces of the puzzle to match. You couldn't make traces disappear—just hope to bury them deep enough, and that didn't always work. Surveillance had indicated that Catherine had since tried to strike a deal with Ben Horne: all the dirt they had on each other, and Ben on Josie, respectively; to make it disappear and give the police a hard time to prove anything. Also, making it impossible for the one to implicate the other. Catherine knew that, at this point, both of them would go down. Ben Horne had agreed, except they'd been overheard by Audrey, who'd tipped the Sheriff off to the exchange—now, both of them spent their nights in jail.

"Dale!" Audrey called as they entered the lobby. "Come on, I was just about to have a late lunch. I haven't had a chance to sit down since breakfast, it's a mess."

"In a minute, Audrey, I'd like to go up to my room first, if that's alright."

"Sure, we've kept everything as it was, as per your request."

"Thank you. I'll be down in a minute, you go on, eat."

Dale gave a little wave, then went upstairs to his room. He felt a little apprehension before entering, but calmed himself by drawing a deep breath. There was nothing to be afraid of—on the contrary. He went in, and took a good look at his surroundings. Audrey had kept her word, everything was as he'd asked her to keep it. He made a beeline for his night table, and there he found the old friend he'd wanted to pick up.

Pushing the record switch with his thumb, he sat down on the bed, and drew another deep breath before speaking.

"Diane—it's 3.50pm, and I'm back at the Great Northern as my own self. I'm sorry for neglecting you for so long. The demon that had so ungraciously taken control of my body had no use for a friend such as you. Now, I'm back, and there's a lot to tell. Much will have to wait until later, but there are a few things I want to tell you now, before I go down to have a late lunch with Harry, Albert, and Audrey. I want you to know that Windom Earle is gone, and that I have control over my life now. I can see the mistakes I've made, and how people have come to harm because of that. I will try to make amends, and honour those who mean the most to me. Audrey sat with me while I recovered, and I finally found the words to tell her how much she means to me."

* * *

_As Dale finally came around with a mostly clear head, he felt his hand encased within the warmth of another, so he turned his head to see who was sitting with him. There, curled up in a chair beside with, was Audrey. He studied her face for a moment, and winced as he noticed the bandage on her forehead. He thought of all the people he had hurt that night, hoping they would one day forgive him._

" _You're awake, Agent Cooper," Audrey smiled at him and lightly squeezed his hand. "How are you feeling? Do you want me to call a nurse?"_

" _I'm fine, Audrey," Dale croaked, then coughed. "A little water would help, apparently."_

" _You got it." Audrey stood and went over to a cabinet, returning with a pitcher and a plastic cup. "Do you need help?"_

" _No, I'll be fine." Dale took the water from her with a grateful smile. Sipping slowly, he watched her settling down. "How are you?"_

" _I'm fine."_

" _Audrey, I'm so sorry."_

" _But I'm fine!"_

" _You were lucky."_

" _It's not your fault."_

" _It is. I was there."_

" _What do you mean?"_

" _I was there, that night. I was in his head. It was my idea to take you, too. I wanted to slow him down, to make it easier for the others to track him down in time; I took a gamble on four lives that night. It was my idea to hurt the sergeant. It is my fault, Audrey. I used you, and I'm sorry."_

" _You did it to save Annie."_

" _How is she? How's McGee?"_

" _Annie's… alright, under the circumstances. She'll be fine in a few weeks. McGee…"_

" _No."_

" _I'm sorry, Dale, he didn't make it. He'd lost too much blood by the time they found him."_

" _No, no, no, no, no. See? This is what could have happened to you. If he'd hurt you, I… I was playing a dangerous game, too dangerous. And yet, it's the way I work, the way I think. I did what I had to do, and if my recent encounter with Bob's taught me anything, it's that I have to accept that, because otherwise I'll never be able to live with myself. Can you?"_

" _I don't blame you. You were desperate, and you went with what you knew to help someone you loved. Things happened that you couldn't have foreseen or prevented."_

" _About that, Audrey…"_

" _What?"_

" _What happened between me and Annie… I'm sorry. You must have thought me a terrible cad."_

" _Dale, I've had a lot of time to think about it, and Annie and I talked a lot while you were… incapacitated. She let Dr Jacoby hypnotise her to make sense of her nightmares, so she started remembering more and more of what happened in the Lodge. About Caroline, Windom Earle; we put two and two together. Do you remember our conversation from a few weeks ago—about Jack?"_

" _I do."_

" _I wasn't exactly smart, either. Nothing in our deal said we couldn't see other people, though we didn't make the cleverest choices about it. You'd only laugh if I told you why I chose him."_

" _Why?"_

" _Because he reminded me of you. Sweeping in like that, taking me seriously when everyone else just sneered, treating me right, but with a one-way ticket out of here, liable to vanish from one day to another, just like you."_

" _That's still different from deluding myself into falling for a girl because she has scars on her wrists."_

" _You were out of your mind, Agent Cooper. You were so hurt, and so desperate not to make the same mistake twice you walked right into another one; I'd never blame you for that. And I hope you don't either."_

" _I don't."_

" _Good."_

" _I don't want to give up our deal, Audrey. But if you want me to, I'll walk."_

" _You won't get rid of me that easily."_

" _It's going to take a long time 'til I can come back. The Bureau will want to keep a close eye on me."_

" _I'll be fine. Just come back to me."_

" _I promise."_

" _How long will you be able to stay for now?"_

" _A while, there's the Packard investigation still pending. Is… my room still available?"_

" _Of course."_

_They smiled at each other, and Dale opened his mouth to say something else, but they were interrupted by a nurse._

* * *

As Dale finished telling this story to Diane, he found himself happier than he'd felt in a long time. He signed off, telling Diane he'd be back to talk later, and left his room for the dining hall. When he came down, the other three had already ordered an assortment of dishes they knew he liked, so he just sat down and tucked in.

They'd been talking animatedly for a while before Dale felt a presence behind him. He looked up to find Margaret standing next to him, her log clutched in her arms as always. Dale nabbed his lips with his napkin and smiled up at her.

"Margaret! I haven't seen you in a while, how have you been? Please, take a seat."

"I'm fine, thank you, Agent Cooper. I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you, but my log has something to say to you. I know that you've been in the woods for a long time, and we're glad that you have found your way out. However, there is something you should know."

"What is it, Margaret?"

"There are shadows out there. My log has seen them."


	11. Dinner's Going to Have to Wait

Harry, Albert, Audrey, and Dale exchanged concerned looks before turning to Margaret.

"Shadows?" Dale repeated, his gut quickly deciding that he didn't like this sort of revelation at all.

"Shadows. There are things out there, whispers and threats. My log can't quite understand what they're saying, but it seems that they are waiting for something."

Dale leaned forward a little and carefully gestured to include the log in the conversation. "Have you heard or seen anything of the previous presence in the woods, the one you've warned us about before? Anything about the man called Bob?"

"My log doesn't know anything about that. It's just that this is all new, and… dangerous. My log says he can feel it. That's all I can tell you."

"If we accompanied you into the woods, could your log show us where it has picked up those whispers?"

Margaret softly pulled her log closer to her chest, reassuring it with a steady hand brushing against its bark, as she always did.

"We can try. I'll let you know." With that, the Log Lady abruptly stood and left the table. Dale sat straight again and looked at his friends with weary eyes.

"Just when I thought we might have it sorted out."

"You still don't know what the little man meant to do about Bob?"

"No, he wouldn't tell us before he threw the Major and me out of the Lodge, and I haven't had any dreams, either. I'd really hoped they might finally lock him away somehow…"

"Coop," Harry interrupted, "there's always something out there. Why do you think there have been generations of Bookhouse boys fighting this? This presence that we feel, that darkness, it's always been there, and it always will. It just comes in different shapes and sizes, and sometimes it makes people do horrible things, and sometimes nothing happens for a while. They might be lying in wait."

"And you suggest we wait until they decide to act?"

"It's usually the only way to get to them at all, until you have an idea of what they're after."

Dale sighed. "I hope they'll take their time."

"Just as long as we can call you when they lose their patience," Harry joked.

"Well, yeah, just give it about ten years until the Bureau lets him anywhere near the tri-county area again," Albert cut in with a stern look at Coop.

Audrey and Harry almost instinctively exchanged a look—served them right for falling for federal agents who routinely hopped on planes to catch serial killers all over the country. As a somewhat awkward silence descended on the table at this, Harry noticed the voice recorder in Coop's breast pocket.

"It's nice to see Diane back with you. I guess if there's proof needed that you're alright, this is it."

"Yeah, well," Dale responded with a quirky grin, "Bob couldn't quite grasp the simple joy of having someone to talk to. As much as he tried to blend in and to let half-Dale behave as normally as possible—such as working like a man possessed (pardon the pun) on the financial records confiscated at the mill—he couldn't get all the details right. A piece of me was just missing that he couldn't imagine to recreate."

"Now," interjected Albert, "before this conversation drowns in either awkwardness or syrup, let's postpone the issue of the shadows and move on to cases we can solve before somebody else drops dead: the mill. The Bureau has granted Coop and me enough time to re-join the investigation and wrap up the Brothers Horne and the Packards into one neat little package; to be delivered to a federal correctional institution of our choosing."

Harry stopped him with a calming gesture of his hand.

"Audrey, if you don't want us to have this discussion right here in front of you, we can…"

She smiled at him, and though it seemed strained, her eyes showed a determination unrivalled in many—the same determination Harry'd seen the day she'd come to the station to urge him to understand that Dale wasn't Dale anymore. The Sheriff realized then that Audrey Horne would never shy away from the truth and uncomfortable conversations that it fostered.

"It's alright, Sheriff Truman. I'll have to face it eventually, why not get it over with now?"

Dale observed their quiet exchange and cleared his throat.

"Andy and Hawk let me connect most of the dots while I was… 'preoccupied'," he mimed quotation marks in the air, "and I think all we need now is confessions concerning the things raw numbers couldn't help me figure out."

"Confessions?" Harry asked, his eyebrows rising up to his hairline.

"Coop, you're no Nick Frost," Albert piped up.

"I know! But in contrast to Tricky Dick, Ben Horne knows perfectly well that we have enough to put him, his brother, and Catherine Martell away on the charges of fraud, money laundering, extortion, aiding and abetting, embezzlement, accessory to drug and human trafficking, and obstruction of justice alone. Now, what I want them on is conspiracy to commit murder and accessory after the fact."

"And you're gonna get that how…?"

"You know that, so many months down the line, forensics can't exactly save your ass on this one, Coop," Albert mirrored the Sheriff's somewhat sceptical tone. Coop smiled enigmatically.

"If I'm not mistaken, the power relations between these two families were held in the balance by carefully kept dossiers on each other's character flaws. Now, I know that Catherine went to see Benjamin shortly before we cracked the numbers, and that among the items she had on her person at the time of arrest was a key to a deposit box at the bus station. If the box contains what I think it does, then all I need to do is feed it to Ben Horne bite for bite. I only need half the picture to get one of them to give the missing half. If one of them gets well and truly busted, they won't hesitate to bring the other down with them. The mill,  _Ghostwood_ , One Eyed Jack's, Hong Kong," Dale sighed. "That is one intricate web they've woven."

"How long are they going to get?" Audrey asked. Dale had not yet advised her of all of his suspicions, but she had been aware that too many people had been killed directly around them for her father and her uncle to be entirely innocent.

"If I get the confessions," Dale replied quietly, "life."

Audrey swallowed past a lump in her throat and nodded, mindful not to cry in front of the otherwise packed dining hall.

"Does your mother want any of the business?" Harry asked, having known the family the longest.

"No, she says she doesn't want anything to do with it. I don't know what she's going to do, maybe move away."

"With Johnny?"

"I doubt it. Dr Jacoby is the only one who could get through to him after Laura died. I can handle him, but he lives in his own world that I don't really understand. He'd have to stay here to receive the care he needs, and my mother won't fight to have him along. This whole family is a burden to her and her own brand of madness."

"Then what do you want to do?"

"I want to keep the hotel. It's always been legally fixed that when my father becomes incapacitated, I'm in charge of the hotel and the estate. It's what already happened when Daddy re-enacted the Civil War after Leland Palmer was revealed to be Laura's killer. I know I can't do it all on my own, so I'll try and find an investor—not some clowns from Iceland or Norway, thanks very much—who will let me stay on as the general manager. Then I can go to community college, take business classes, get a degree. Maybe then someday the hotel can belong to the family again."

"Anything the Bookhouse boys can do to help—you just say the word."

Audrey smiled gratefully, and conversation turned to more pleasant topics when the rest of their food arrived.

* * *

That morning, hours before Albert and Harry picked up Dale from the hospital, Shelly Johnson had just been about to step into the shower when someone knocked on the door. Reluctant to even answer, she considered just ignoring it, but then a voice rang out to her.

"Shelly, honey, it's me, Bob-cat!"

She sighed, rolled her eyes, and went to the door.

After the Twin Peaks contest and the subsequent search of the woods and all the cabins, Leo had been found, apparently having been held captive by Windom Earle, the man Agent Cooper had warned her, Audrey, and Donna of when they'd gotten that creepy poem. He'd been carted off to the hospital, then back to prison for assaulting her and all the other charges that the DA hadn't been able to take him to court for before. Now that she was surely rid of him, Shelly had finally dared to make a few decisions about her life. She had enlisted the help of Ed and a few of the other Bookhouse boys to complete the work on the house. No more washing her hair in the kitchen basin, no more foliage for walls—and paint. Lots of paint, in all the bright colours that she loved. The darkness had vanished from the house, and Shelly had cleaned out all of Leo's things, discovering that what had been left of her was next to nothing. Leo had taken all of her, had taken everything she'd been, all the hopes she'd had for her life away from her. At the moment, she was living here alone, the only other presence being Norma's, alluded to by a sweater of hers that was lying around from when she'd come to visit and help her decorate, or just talk.

"Come on, let me in!"

Shelly opened the door and leaned against it to block Bobby's access, who now stumbled back a little.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

"What do you want, Bobby?"

"What do you mean, what I want, I haven't seen you in ages. You're always working around the house or at the diner, and I'm at the Great Northern all day, so we hardly get any time together. I wanna be with you, Shelly."

"Bobby, I told you I don't want anyone here for a while. I also told you that this thing between us can't go on the way it did. It can't, period."

"Shelly, you were upset, I understand that, but… your house is finished now, Leo is gone, we can finally—"

"No, Bobby,  _we_  can't. There's no us here, Bobby. You want to move in with me because you have nowhere else to go apart from your parents'. You wanted to be with me because I was the only one who would have you apart from Laura—because I had to keep it a secret just as badly as you, captain of the football team. I wanted to be with you because you were hot and you weren't Leo. But you weren't a good man, Bobby. If you'd been a good man, you wouldn't have talked me into spending one more second with Leo in the house just to cash in on the insurance, which ended up being just one more thing you couldn't bother to do enough thinking on, or you would've found out that I'd wind up getting next to nothing to pay my bills. You wanted me to enter that damn pageant for the money, not because you thought I was special. We needed each other as a ticket out of a world we couldn't stand any longer, but that's not a relationship. It's nothing, and it nearly got us killed. It nearly got  _me_  killed. So let me tell you something, Bobby Briggs: I can't give you what you want, and you can't give me what I need, because what I need isn't about you. I don't want to depend on you anymore, because I don't  _need_  to depend on you. I've got a pretty good grip on my own life just as long as there isn't you or Leo trying to take it out of my hands."

Shelly almost clapped her hand over her mouth, shocked by her own words—but if she was being honest with herself, that speech had been forming in her head for the better part of the last weeks.

"Shelly, are you crazy? I lo—!"

"No, don't you go telling me you love me! You think you do, but you don't even know how to handle yourself, how could you handle being in a relationship with someone?"

At the stubborn and scornful look on Bobby's face, Shelly couldn't stand it any longer, so she turned around and walked into the kitchen, leaving Bobby to advance in after her.

"This is about that FBI agent, isn't it? That old pervert who kissed you in the diner?"

Shelly rounded on him and angrily poked his chest with a pointed finger.

"Don't you call him a pervert! Agent Cole—Gordon—is a good man. He is kind and funny, and most importantly: he listened. He  _heard_  me, in a way that you'll never hear me, with or without hearing aids. I don't know why that happened, all I know is that I've found someone who doesn't want anything from me for anyone else's sake but my own. I am special all on my own, and I'm special to him because he can hear me, for whatever reason. He kissed me to say thanks, and I liked it."

Bobby spread his arms out in his typical gesture of exasperation and outrage, and scoffed.

"So you'll just go away with him?"

"Bobby, I'm not going anywhere. I've got a home, I've got a job, I've got friends. I'm trying to get back into contact with my family, and maybe it'll work, I don't know. I'm not ready for any other relationship until I've proved to myself that I can do it. The relationships I've had were always about power and control, and who needs the other more."

Stroking her hair out of her face, Shelly sat down at the kitchen table. Just the memory of Leo and Bobby leeching the life out of her drained her of all energy for a moment.

"And with that cop it wouldn't be the same? He can't even hear anyone but you!"

"But it doesn't make him dependent on me, does it? Come on, Bobby, think. Put your ego aside for a moment and think about what we've become, and how a couple of hearing aids compare to all of that."

Bobby didn't answer, just paced around the kitchen, furious.

"Exactly. No matter who I might be with in the future, I know that I can't be with you now, or ever again. We were desperate kids, Bobby. We don't have to be desperate anymore, and with what we've been through, we're definitely not kids. Go on, Bobby. Get your crap sorted out and find someone. Just don't keep clinging to the past."

Looking him straight in the eye, Shelly made sure to put emphasis on that last part, and, not surprisingly, Bobby's brow furrowed even further. Seeing that Shelly didn't seem to have anything more to say on the matter, he just nodded and turned to leave, but doubled back for one last thing.

"I don't understand you, Shelly. I won't come here anymore if you don't want me to, but it'll take more than a couple of hearing aids to make me understand." With that, he was out the door, stalking away with an angry gait.

Against her better judgement, Shelly got up to wander over to the window and watched him leave. He must have parked his car a little further away out of habit, because she could see him walking along the road, his collar turned up against the breeze, until he rounded the bend and vanished from her sight. With another sigh, she turned and went to have that shower, and while she passed the table, her hand trailed over a piece of paper haphazardly lying there, together with other letters and the paper—a note Agent Cole had left for her at the diner, saying he'd be back from Seattle that day.

* * *

"No, Andy, I'm not going to ask the doctor whether it's a boy or a girl," Lucy repeated for the twelfth time, bustling around in the station's kitchenette to grab herself a plate with doughnuts and a cup of tea—which Andy would have happily obliged to do for her, but she insisted she was "pregnant, not sick." She would have thought that, what with Dick Tremayne kicked out of their lives, the day-to-day would somehow become easier, but life quickly asserted itself and just transformed old annoyances into new ones.

"But, Lucy, shouldn't we know? So that we can start picking out names we'd like and think about their clothes and their room, and… it's just all so confusing—"

"There isn't much to be confused about! It's either a boy or a girl, and then we'll know. We can still start thinking about names now, and I really don't think babies really care if what they're dressed in conforms to the socially-imposed conventions of gender-appropriate colour dress codes."

"Huh?" was all Andy had to say to that—naturally, Andy hadn't yet heard of the wonders that disclosed themselves to anyone who picked up Judith Butler's  _Gender Trouble_.

"Never mind. We'll know what to do when we know."

"Yeah, but when—"

"When the baby is born, Andy."

With that, Lucy went back to her desk and sat down to enjoy her dessert. Her fiancé was just about to say something else when Hawk came up from behind him, put his arm around his friend's shoulder, and shook his head, quietly signalling just to let it go.

* * *

After their lunch, Audrey stood and excused herself.

"Alright, I've got to go back to work. Sheriff, Agent Rosenfield, it was nice to see you. Dale, can I talk to you for a sec?"

"Of course!" He quickly wiped his mouth with his napkin, then got up to follow her out into the hall. "What is it, Audrey?"

"Can I see you tonight? Just for a little dinner and dessert. I haven't properly talked to you out of a hospital gown these last few days, not to mention _alone_ , and it won't be much longer until you have to leave."

"Audrey, I… I would love to have dinner with you tonight, but…"

"It's the case, isn't it?"

"Yes. Your father is a suspect in my investigation—it is  _my_  investigation again now, and it's OK if we have lunch with Albert and Harry, but once I start questioning Catherine and Ben and Jerry at the station, which I will this afternoon, then we can't have dinner for two."

Audrey made a face, but she knew that this was how Dale needed to handle things. He needed to build a rock-solid case for the DA—what he wanted and what he needed were two very different things. Again.

"I understand. And you'll leave when the case is closed? When is it going to go to court?"

"That might take a while. With the charges that we have, it will have to go on trial in Seattle. I'll have to be there to give my statement; so will you, but… I'll have to leave Twin Peaks as soon as we're done, and I can't risk the case before they're convicted."

"Dinner's going to have to wait."

"Dinner's going to have to wait."

"How long, do you think?"

"Well, you said to come back when you're all grown up…"

"That would be three years. They won't let you come back beforehand?"

"Depending on the cases I'll get and the work I deliver… three years seem optimistic. I know Gordon will put in a good word for me, but the Bureau isn't exactly happy with me at the moment."

"I guess not… will Agent Rosenfield and the Sheriff be OK?" They both turned to peek around the corner at their lunch companions, who were now deep in conversation—from the looks of it, Albert was being abrasive again, while Harry had decided to just wait it out, torn between annoyance and appreciation of Albert's mastery of sarcasm.

"Well, Albert is much more mobile than I am, he's always travelling back and forth between Seattle and his crime scenes. He can make the time. But they can't start seeing each other properly either, not while the defence can still try to compromise Harry with his relationship with Josie."

"That's just… how can you sacrifice your emotions like that? It's… I don't even know what to say."

"There's no suitable swearword for what that is," Dale agreed.

"So this is it? We'll say goodbye, and then you'll be back someday?"

Dale looked back at her and saw that there was no sorrow in her eyes, no hopelessness—sadness, yes, and anger at having to wave her feelings away for the sake of her father and uncle getting punished for what they did; but Audrey Horne never gave up. She wanted something, she fought for it, and Dale felt safe in the knowledge that this was the woman he would do anything to come back to.

"Yeah. I'll sleep here, we can talk, I will have to see you to talk about your father's business and what you know about it, and we can keep in touch when the case is all over, but beyond that… I'll be back someday."

"Just… come find me when you can."

Dale nodded, unable to say another word, and didn't protest when Audrey leaned up to kiss his cheek. He watched her retreating back as she went back to work, watched her as she walked further and further away from him, back into a world he would have no access to for a long, long time; and all he could think of was the content of her smile.

In what had once been her father's, now was her own office, Audrey slumped against the door as soon as she had closed it behind her, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. That she was going to wait, spend those three years waiting with her determination and dignity intact didn't mean it wouldn't hurt her every waking moment.


	12. You're Bluffing

Benjamin Horne experimentally dragged his arms back and forth across the table in the interrogation room, listening to the noise the handcuffs' metal made grating on the wood. Almost meditatively, he'd been doing this for the past half hour that he'd spent in there, waiting for Sheriff Truman and Special Agent Cooper to come and talk to him. This wasn't the first time he was in that room, it wasn't the first night he'd spent in lock-up, but it was the first time that he was absolutely sure that he wouldn't go out the front door this time.

He'd been there for over an hour, left waiting—the poor policeman's only way of making a suspect get nervous—when suddenly the door opened, revealing Agent Cooper and Sheriff Truman. Ben regarded them suspiciously, especially the FBI agent. Following his arrest, he had tried to use the information Audrey had unwittingly given him against Cooper, accusing him of being psychologically disturbed after the mysterious events in the woods, but a visit from his daughter had soon persuaded him to relinquish that line of defence. She had told him in no uncertain terms that he had better stop trying to incriminate Cooper and naming her as a witness, not only because she would deny everything anyway, but also because, by the time the case would go to trial, the problem would be solved and even the most prejudiced of external examiner wouldn't find anything wrong with him if they tried.

"Agent Cooper will be just fine, Daddy, and you'll go to jail."

"What about the Bookhouse boys? They operate outside the law, don't they, and you told me about them, too."

"Oh, really? I don't remember hearing anything about them."

Audrey's father frowned in confusion. "You'd be willing to lie for that man, in a court of law? Under oath?"

"You can't touch them, Daddy. And I won't help you try." With that, she'd left him in his cell, not even looking back. He'd sunk against the bars of his lock-up cell, sighing deeply, not understanding how that rogue agent had ensnared his daughter so completely—then again, it had probably been easy. Audrey had always had her head in the clouds, and for some men it must be easy to take advantage of that. Little did he know that helping Dale Cooper like this and preparing to take over her father's business was the single sanest thing his daughter had done in recent years.

"Agent Cooper," Ben greeted the FBI agent while he and the sheriff were getting seated. "Long time, no see. How are you doing?"

"Fine, thanks, Mr Horne," the agent answered cordially, not rising to the bait—well, it had been a shot in the dark. Beyond that, Benjamin was inclined to heed his daughter's warning.

"Why am I here, Agent Cooper? Sheriff Truman? You don't seriously think your dazzling tactics and excursions to the woods will work in a federal court of law?"

"We'll be asking the questions, Benjamin," Cooper coolly interrupted him, and plunked a thick wad of files down on the wooden table. "Let's cut right to the chase: this is all that we need to get your family and co-conspirators by the balls, figuratively speaking, for at least half of the total of charges we're prepared for. And you're gonna give us the other half."

"You're joking," Ben scoffed, his humourless smile regaining a bit of its old smugness. When Dale did nothing but stare back at him, seriousness incarnate, and Sheriff Truman did nothing but raise a lazy brow, that smugness buggered right off again. His eyes flickered between the two officers for a minute before he asked, "you  _are_  joking?"

"Oddly enough—no. We have so much dirt on you, Benjamin, there is no way you're getting out of this. If you want to make this a little less excruciatingly painful for yourself, you make sure to answer all our questions."

"Agent Cooper," Horne countered using his most patronizing tone, "if this impressive pile of scrap-paper made up to look all official is supposed to scare me into talking, then I'm afraid you have a lot to learn. Do you really think a bluff is going to draw me out? You think I'm going to spill all my secrets because of your waving a stack of police reports that aren't worth the paper they're written on at me?"

"Oh, Benjamin, if you think that eloquent businessman lark is still cutting it, the you have a lot to learn about this new world you're living in. You mentioned secrets?"

"That was rhetorical."

"That was defensive," interjected the Sheriff.

"Harry, why won't you just come out of your closet and just say it?" Dale and Harry shared a side-long glance, and a trained eye would have noticed the muscle in the corner of Dale's mouth twitch at the involuntarily funny choice of words. Ben leaned back in his chair as far as he could, displaying every bit the superior who shouldn't have to bother with all this. Dale resisted the urge to follow him, to crowd him—it would give the suspect too much pull, too much control of the movement. "Alright," he took over again to nip any awkwardness that that remark might have sparked in the bud and take the attention off Harry, who, admittedly, looked a bit green—Dale made a mental note to ask Albert and Hawk to let fly as many stupid puns on Harry's recent self-discovery as possible in the next few days, just to get him get used to it. "What?"

"What do you want to hear?"

"Ah, but Ben. You want us to tell you what we can prove, not just what we want you to confirm. Well, you can have that. What we bring to the table is a full-blown dossier"—Harry beside him twitched, and Dale cursed his inner five-year-old and all that homoerotic subtext—"on you and your… activities. And those aren't more than mere character flaws, Mr Horne, or little weaknesses like fancying yourself in love with Laura Palmer. Those are felonies, conspiracy to commit, regular assassination attempts, even. You know that we can milk your financial records for every last drop, and together with everything we pulled from the Packards' estate, my, that becomes a really interesting picture. There are two very simple pieces of advice in my world, Ben, and they usually prove worth heeding: 'follow the money' and 'cherchez la femme.' Catherine had this dossier in a deposit box at the station. She wanted to hand it over to you in exchange for everything you had on her, except we managed to arrest her before you could make the drop. We've got you and your brother up to your chests in what doesn't exactly smell like roses, so how about you cut the bull and give us what we want? Then, you're going down, but at least the lover who conned you out of your life will go with you. Think about it, Ben. What do you want most in this world, right now? Go to prison? Surely not. But to go to prison alone…"

"You're bluffing."

"Keep telling yourself that. It doesn't make Catherine's unwitting betrayal any less real."

"Am I supposed to believe that everything you know comes out of those files? Wouldn't 'Catherine sold you out, Ben, she cracked during the interrogation' be the more conventional lie?"

Now, Dale moved in and leaned across the table, to close the gap, to corner Ben, to show him he had nowhere to go.

"It's not a lie, Ben. And, well, one look at the file and she clammed up. She won't talk to us because she knows she doesn't have to, all she's trying to do is to cut her losses. We've got enough to put the both of you away for years; and we're in no hurry to get her to talk when the evidence does all the talking for her. Perhaps she thinks that if she zips it, you'll keep quiet, too. But you won't, will you, Ben? 'Cause you're not the fall guy, you're not the pawn. You couldn't possibly. If you drown, you take everyone else down with you, because you couldn't bear not being the last man standing."

When Dale saw that tiny slump in the frown lines on Benjamin Horne's forehead, he knew he'd won.

* * *

"Shelly, this pie is heavenly!" Special Agent Gordon Cole exclaimed around a mouthful of cherry pie, grinning boyishly at the girl on the other side of the counter. She smiled at him and poured him another cup of coffee.

"Is there anything else I can get you? Ice cream to go with the pie, maybe?"

"No, thank you, my dear, I'm fine."

"Alright. Give me if a shout if you change your mind." Shelly moved to walk away and collect the dishes from one of the booths, but Agent Cole stopped her.

"Wait." When she turned back to look at him, there was a strange expression in his eyes, as if he wanted to ask her something, but wasn't sure if she'd let him. "I just wanted to ask… you look happier than the last time I saw you. You know, just that little bit… brighter. Has anything happened?" Shelly tilted her head at him and pondered whether to tell him about her breaking up with Bobby. At the open concern on his face, and considering the way her thoughts had returned to him again and again over the past week, she decided that she  _wanted_  to confide in him.

"Remember Bobby, my boyfriend? Well, I've broken up with him."

"Oh… how did he take it?"

"Well, he wasn't exactly happy… But I finally got away from my husband, and I decided I needed to get away from him, too, if I want to take my life into my own hands for a change."

"Quite right, too. I've got to be honest, I don't know if I pity him. He wasn't a very nice boyfriend, was he?"

Shelly smiled at the careful, yet loaded wording. "No, I guess he wasn't."

Gordon's eyes turned soft, and he smiled. "Well, for what it's worth: I'm glad you're getting better. Do you have… plans?"

"I don't really know." Shelly resolved to abandon the dishes for now, glanced around for Norma, but she seemed busy in the kitchen, arguing with the new cook, so she leaned on the counter and made herself comfortable. "I mean, I want to get out someday, but until then I need to get what I have under control, don't I? What are you gonna do, anyway? Are you staying for longer?"

"No, not much longer. Agent Cooper has business to wrap up, but after that, we've got to move out again."

"Oh… when d'you think you'll be back?"

"I couldn't say… on a case, who knows? And on vacation… I'm not sure if that's ever gonna happen."

"Oh." Shelly inwardly flinched—she was oh-ing an awful lot there, for a girl who wanted to get away from the disreputable influence of men. Gathering her resolve, she grinned at the agent instead.

"Just don't you dare leave without saying goodbye."

"Promise. Remember, though…"

"Yeah?"

"Well, Seattle is always open for young people trying to make something of their lives."

"Oh, don't give me ideas!" Shelly laughed, putting a placating hand on Cole's arm—briefly, she wondered whether she should, but then she remembered that they'd kissed two booths over, and relaxed inwardly.

"Why not?"

"Come on, I can't just up and leave! Norma needs me here, and I've just barely got the house feeling habitable."

"That's that, I know, but… I mean, you might be here another year, maybe two, and for such a young person, that's nothing! No-one's gonna begrudge you considering your options, are they?"

"No, I guess not…" Shelly could feel the thought quietly making itself at home in her mind, and she knew that the idea would come back to her, niggling, quite a few times in the future. For a second, she almost resented him for playing devil's advocate, but something told her she'd be grateful for this bit of encouragement.

"Shelly, some help would be appreciated!" Norma called from the kitchen, and Shelly flinched a bit and pulled an excusing face at Gordon, who blinked at her blankly, blissfully unaware.

"Huh?"

"Uh… Norma called, I have to get back to work. The dishes," she added, pointing with her thumb over her shoulder.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have kept you."

"Don't mention it—I'm glad you did." When she looked down, she saw that he had finished his pie and coffee in the meantime. Gesturing, she asked, "would you like a second helping?"

"No, oh, I couldn't," he smiled and patted his stomach. "It's best if I went up to the station again, I need to see Agent Cooper about something. What do I owe you?"

As he paid, he fumbled a little to find his notepad and a pen, scribbled something down and handed it to Shelly.

"What's that?"

"My number, to the office in Seattle. If there's anything you need help with, your husband's trial, that other fellow—anything. Just give me a call."

"I—I mean, I don't want you to feel obliged—"

"Oh, but I do, and I don't mind. Don't be afraid to impose, 'cause you're not imposing. Ever."

"Thank you, Agent Cole."

"Don't thank me yet—I'll make one last round before the Bureau moves out. Howdy!" He turned to leave out the door, and waved a funny little wave before he pushed it open.

"Bye!" Shelly mirrored his wave, and looked after him while he went to his car, slightly lost in thought. So lost, in fact, that she didn't hear Norma coming up behind her.

"Shelly? Are the dishes going to clean themselves away?" She asked, insistently, but without malice. Shelly turned and blushed in spite of herself, quickly squeezing past Norma to set about doing her job, all the while trying to push the thought of 'Seattle' to the back of her mind.

* * *

Three days later, Harry and Coop could finally close their files on the Packard/Horne case. As Dale had silently concluded in that moment during the interrogation, Ben Horne had been finished the instant Dale had painted him a picture that he wouldn't be able to bear. He'd sung like a bird from the distant shores of the West Indies, and now he, his brother Jerry, and Catherine Packard were all on their way to court, life sentences staring into their increasingly desperate faces. When Catherine had realized that her former lover had opened the treasure chest and let her go down with him, her façade had crumbled and she'd literally begged Dale for a deal. She'd offered information that she hadn't known Ben Horne already possessed, and was therefore useless. When the FBI agent confronted her with that, her despair turned into anger, and she'd have taken the interrogation room apart, chairs and all, hadn't it been for the handcuffs and Hawk and Andy moving in quickly to detain her. Her red hair wild around her head, her make-up from days ago not quite washed off, and her eyes red-rimmed and tired from the sleepless nights in lock-up, trying to plot her way out of this, and struggling against the hold the deputies had on her even now, she made a deceptively powerful vision—the amazon had been tamed.

* * *

The court case would be prepared and held in Seattle, so all Dale and Harry could do was to supervise the transfer into federal penitentiary the next day.

"Please tell me you didn't actually wave them off," was Albert's first, naturally condescending remark, literally as he stepped into the Sheriff's office later in the day, rolling his eyes at the obvious glee that Harry, sitting at his desk, and Dale, standing over by the far window, were displaying at what they had accomplished. Dale giggled in what he hoped was a manly fashion, and Harry just grinned, not bothering to protest as Albert first whacked his shoulder, then bent down to kiss him on the cheek. Dale inwardly rejoiced, as he knew Albert to be a fiercely private man. To be allowed to witness him sharing a moment with his—well, what? Boyfriend? That sounded a bit silly, and the otherwise so poker-faced agent had to bite his lower lip in order not to laugh out loud—partner, then, was an unusual gift, and he chose not to draw attention to it, lest Albert kick him off the presumably very short list of trustworthy residents again.

"Three people carted off to face murder charges and possibly life, and you two giggle like two kids on a sugar rush—I am shocked!" He mockingly glared at them, just in case the sarcasm dripping from his voice had disguised itself too well for two clueless detectives.

Just then, a knock came on the door, and Gordon Cole stepped through, wearing his trademark trench coat and carrying his favourite leather briefcase.

"Gentlemen!"

"Gordon! That sure was quick, we barely just called you to give word that we're done," Dale stepped up while nearly shouting that, and shook his hand.

"Well, Coop, we like to stay on top of things—I've been on the stand-by lists for flights from Seattle for the past three days, and it finally paid off," Gordon laughed, but soon his expression became serious. "Now, Coop, Agent Rosenfield, Sheriff Truman—you know what this means."

Albert, who had taken a seat on the edge of Harry's desk, cleared his throat. "Sir, how long can we expect the Bureau not to let us near the outskirts of Twin Peaks ever again?"

"Oh, yes, it's always a pleasure to be working in such a nice town, even if in gruelling circumstances."

Behind Gordon's back, Dale raised an eyebrow at Albert, who glared back at him over his superior's shoulder before repeating his question with more gusto.

"Ah, I'm sorry. It doesn't look good at the moment, we're facing some structural changes. In Coop's case, it all depends on the psych evaluation he will have to take—" Cole turned and gave Dale a pointed look; "and as for you, well… you should be given a little more latitude, but for the duration of the trial, the Bureau is surely going to want to have you somewhere a little less… significant."

"Oh, well, that would be huge, resounding, 'No,'" Albert ground out, and kicked the paper bin next to his foot a little more forcefully than necessary. Harry's hand moved a fraction of an inch closer to his left thigh in the desk, and he refrained from kicking the bin a second time, but growled to make sure that everyone knew he was far from pleased with the arrangement. "Let's just wait until three serial killers decide to hit the area, and then find some bumbling fool with a pimply face, just out of the academy, to put all the evidence into all the wrong bags…"

"Not everyone can be as fair-skinned as you, Albert," Dale put in to save them all from the undoubtedly rather convoluted reply Gordon would have come up with, and stepped further into the room. "When do they want us back in Seattle?"`

"Tomorrow, Coop. You'd better get packing," Gordon replied good-naturedly, only nearly missing the looks of resignation that passed between the three men before him.


	13. I'm a Trouble-Making Basket Case. Congratulations, Agent Cooper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically, this is part one of the mid-season finale. It's going to be a while until these guys get to see each other again (though it's not gonna be as long until the next chapter will be up); and lots of things are going to be different. Or are they?

Dale and Albert put their bags into the trunk of the car that would take them to Seattle. Gordon had already left the previous evening, leaving them to sort out their things on their own and without too much pressure. The Bureau wanted them back in at 6pm at the latest, which gave them enough time to dawdle—except they didn't want to anymore. Now, they just wanted to get away, even though neither of them would say it out loud. They had said their goodbyes the night before, had parted with a promise, and now they knew that looking forward was the way to go.

* * *

"Tomorrow?" Dale croaked, his eyes swivelling around, from Albert and Harry to Gordon Cole.

"Yeah, they want you in as soon as possible—and now that you've finished the last case, you're free to go. They want you, Agent Rosenfield, to go directly to Boston, they've got a forensic situation there that no-one seems up to. Agent Cooper, you're wanted for additional investigation into some… methodological details of your work here, and then they need a psych evaluation. You've been injured in the field again, and the Bureau would like to make sure this isn't another Philadelphia. If you live up to the expectations, there might be another case waiting for you."

"And if I don't?"

"Coop, I hope you're not thinking of doing anything—"

"Just tell me, Gordon, please."

"If not, then it's desk work for you. And I won't be able to get you out of it after a perfunctory month."

Dale sighed, turned away, and went back to the window, staring out. He rubbed his hand across his face, trying to fend off the tiredness that had suddenly descended on him. He felt torn, he had felt this way the first time he'd been due to leave, months ago. When Audrey had come to his hotel room to say goodbye, he'd felt two things very clearly. One, he didn't want to go. Two, he wanted to go. Dale knew that he was nothing without his job, he had spent hours coming to that realization, and it had broken the hold Bob had had on him. He wanted to leave, he wanted to go somewhere else, save lives, give the dead back the voice that they had lost, and get as close the abyss as he could without being devoured. Wasn't it always the way? You want to be somewhere, but when you are, you miss someplace else, and vice versa. An FBI agent couldn't have both, he couldn't have his family trailing after him while he was busy chasing serial murders across federal state borders. He would have to do what they all did—make lots of phone calls and come back whenever he could. It wasn't a lifestyle made for everyone, but Dale was made for it. He knew that Audrey understood, because she would do the same once she got the hotel up to snuff. She'd told him, while he'd still been in hospital, that she wanted to travel, work as an advisor and General Manager for other hotels across the world. This granted him the opportunity to be selfish—and he took it. She wouldn't stay where she was and wait around for him, she would make her own life. They had a deal, and they would try their utmost to make it work around the adventures they both wanted.

He wondered what it would be like for Harry and Albert—Harry was most likely going to stay here. Twin Peaks was his home, the place he felt he had to be, and he wasn't half wrong. The town needed him, the Bookhouse boys needed him. Dale knew he wouldn't feel "parked" in some way, Harry loved his job, and it wasn't like he wasn't leading a purposeful life on his own. The trouble was that, in the dark moments, there was nothing worse than waiting. Since Albert spent most of his time in his lab in Seattle, only occasionally flying out to collect evidence himself, if needed, or to assist with on-going investigations or court cases, it would be easier for them to meet there once in a while, but the Sheriff never just gets a weekend off.

"Then perhaps we should use the time the Mighty Bureau has granted us," Albert's acerbic voice sounded from the other side of the room, and Coop couldn't help but send an amused look over his shoulder. He knew he wanted to visit Audrey, perhaps have a quiet, completely coincidental dinner with her at the Great Northern, but he could only guess what the other two had in mind—somehow, he didn't think a romantic dinner was the way to go for Albert, who, even when he was being romantic in private (after all, they couldn't just go out on a date without being the talk of the town), enjoyed a bit of morose sarcasm.

"Alright… Gordon, when are you leaving?"

"This evening, I've got things to prepare."

"When do they want us in, at the latest?"

"You're both scheduled for individual checks at 6 in the evening."

"Then how about we," Dale indicated Albert, Harry, and himself with his index finger, "get around to wrapping up; and Albert and I meet tomorrow to get back to Seattle?"

"The Bureau wants to send you a car," Gordon put in. Dale raised an eyebrow.

"What? Afraid we'll try to make a run for it?"

"No, but they want to make sure you're up to date on a few things. There will be files and memos waiting in the car."

"Mmh, very James Bond," Albert remarked bitingly, and Harry snorted. Gordon gave a glare, but let it go. While he was here to protect the FBI's interests, he knew how difficult it could be to move out after an assignment was completed.

"Go on, then," he prompted, turning to leave the office. "Never mind me, just get on with it."

"With what, Gordon?" Coop asked as innocently as possible.

"With whatever it is you want to do," came the teasing reply, and Dale, once again, had his suspicion confirmed that Gordon Cole knew a lot more than what he put in his reports.

The next day, Albert and Coop found themselves in the Seattle office, each setting off into different directions, according to the documents they had been handed in the car. The individual checks they had been scheduled for were obviously assigned so they were as far away from each other as possible—Coop had actually been surprised Gordon hadn't been ordered to separate them earlier, to prevent them from making up cover stories. Not that they needed any, the truth was insane enough to be so bewildering they wouldn't actually believe anyone could make such a story up. Besides, neither of them ever lied in any of those evaluations—rather, they both talked until their interlocutors were invariably too exasperated to try and dig deeper.

This time, however, Dale wasn't quite sure how far that tactic would get him. Albert would be fine, but they had it out for him today, he knew that.

The room was one of the conference rooms rather than the interrogation suites that were used to questions suspects, but Dale still felt claustrophobic. Much like in the conference room in Twin Peaks, he sat with his back to the door, the agent who had been assigned to his case opposite him.

"Agent Cooper," the IA agent turned on the recorder and fixed him with an unpleasant stare. "Are you aware that the outcome of this preliminary check might lead to a formal investigation into your involvement in several… extraordinary events in the town of Twin Peaks."

"I am aware of that." Dale sat up straight, with his fingers intertwined on the table top, looking his interlocutor squarely in the eye.

"Your file indicates that there already has been disciplinary action taken against you during your investigation into the murder of one Laura Palmer. You were accused of drug trafficking and violating federal laws by crossing into Canadian territory without alerting the Mounties."

"I was cleared, and the charges were dropped."

"Be that as it may, it wouldn't the first time you displayed a distinct disinclination to heed the Bureau's guidelines."

"What are you referring, to?"

"Pittsburgh, now Twin Peaks—and every time, it's about a woman."

"The Pittsburgh file is closed, and I would prefer you didn't try to use it against me now. I have, ever since the mistakes I made in Pittsburgh, always put the Bureau's interests before my own."

"And yet, Windom Earle used a young woman you were having a relationship with to get to you, putting several more lives at risk. What happened in those woods, Agent Cooper?"

"I'm afraid what happens in the woods surrounding Twin Peaks stays in the woods—I was held hostage for a period of weeks, drugged and, brimming with hallucinations and on the edge of schizophrenia due to intense mental trauma, let loose upon the town. But that is not what I remember, merely what I have been told by the Sheriff and Agent Rosenfield."

"If that's the case, then how can you expect to function, psychologically? We can't have an agent in the field who is prone to nightmares and delusions."

"Nearly every senior field agent has nightmares after the things they've seen."

"Don't evade my question."

"I have absolutely no recollection of what happened to me in the Black Lodge, so I doubt it will have any bearing on my work."

"Agent Cooper, I don't think I have to lecture you on the powerful abilities of repression the human psyche possesses. You might not remember anything now, but what about in three months? One little trigger, and it will break through your defences like a ram."

"Agent Dewey, I know what you meant. However, I can assure you that, over the course of my recovery, I have practised meditation, intensively, using several techniques designed to delve into the depths of the mind, dredging up even the worst of unbidden memories. I have submitted to hypnosis with the resident psychiatrist, Dr Jacoby, which brought forth nothing of interest to this board. A copy of his report should be enclosed in your files, though I will gladly submit to an FBI-authorised session, should the director require it."

"Is that so? That still does not answer my question entirely, though. How do you expect to function, mentally and professionally, if all culprits need to do is to kidnap the girl you've taken a shine to, and the entire investigation goes to hell because you've gone missing while trying to save her?"

"Windom Earle was not part of the investigation I was leading in Twin Peaks. He pursued me because of an admittedly very personal turn that the operation in Pittsburgh had taken, and it was a personal plan of revenge he was exacting against me. Annie Blackburn, the young woman I had started a tentative relationship with, had nothing to do with the investigation into Laura Palmer's murder; and it wasn't in connection to the pending case that Windom Earle threatened the lives of people close to me. It's true, I've made friends in Twin Peaks, because emotional reticence is not conducive to the work of an FBI agent who constantly has to insert himself into close-knit communities he doesn't know the first thing about—it is my job to get involved, inside and  _outside_  the given boundaries of the investigation, I cannot find fault with that. Windom Earle, however, used it to blackball me—and if you let this influence your decision now, that is exactly what a certified madman wants from you."

"So you're saying that what happened was unfortunate, but had nothing to do with you?"

"I'm saying it was an chain of sometimes tragic, but unforeseeable events that ultimately led to the solving of three murders, a huge criminal scheme engineered by the two wealthiest families in town, and the capture of several other dangerous felons. I'm aware that my actions facilitated these events, and that can, eventually, be traced back to something I did at some point in the past. However, I think it is, or ought to be, known to everyone involved that my intentions were always benevolent, and that my conscience is, according to my own sense of honour and loyalty towards the Bureau, clear."

"Very well, Agent Cooper. We will expect you tomorrow at 10am, for the first official board meeting. I will relay your remarks to the attending officers. Do you have any questions concerning the procedures?"

"No, I don't."

"Then you may go."

As Dale left the room and quietly shut the door behind him, he muttered to himself. "In other words, they think I'm a trouble-making basket case. Congratulations, Agent Cooper."

* * *

One month later, Albert had just gotten off the phone with Harry, who had been out all night staking out the Roadhouse—that was the problem when you were close to the border to Canada, the drug trafficking never stopped, it was just taken over by other people; though this time they were less dangerously homicidal. The FBI agent gathered together his things and threw his notepad in his briefcase, snapping it shut with a decisive flick of his thumbs. He missed the Sheriff, to tell the truth. He wanted to have him right here where he could see him, not out there, down the highway, left at the haystacks. He never actually said any of that to Harry—instead, he told him about incompetent junior agents, incompetent senior agents, serial killers who were stupid enough to leave even a splinter of their DNA behind, and the horrible places he had been to over the course of the month that they had been separated. Dale had once admonished him for not expressing his feelings in those phone calls, but Albert only ever gruffly retorted that it was obvious enough for Harry to know.

"You're right," Dale had deadpanned, "every bit of '… and then Coop had to hold the bastard down while I scraped the undersides of his fingernails' screams, 'please, I just want to see you again, because I love you to bits'!"

Albert had shut the door to his lab in the agent's face, ignoring the indignant, 'Ow!' that sounded from the other side. Out the door, Dale rubbed his nose and pulled a face.

"Shouldn't have done that," he mumbled to himself. Inside the lab, Albert was mentally counting to ten while he walked back to his desk. As he hit seven, Dale's voice came calling through the door.

"Bye, then, Albert! See you in Minnesota, if you're lucky!"

He was momentarily reluctant to answer, but this was Coop's first proper assignment after being on the watch-list ever since they'd gotten back, so he took pity.

"Good luck!"

"Thanks!"

That evening, Cooper called Audrey to tell her he was leaving. They hadn't been on the phone as much as Albert and Harry surely had, for the simple reason that they had a deal. Dale didn't want Audrey to be the girl who waited; and he wouldn't just be the wanderer waiting to return home. It would be years before he would return to Twin Peaks and find a changed world. Or, at least, a changed backyard.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Well, this was the first chapter—the second will focus more on Dale and people's interactions with him outside; and there might even be a sneaky peek into the Lodge…
> 
> This story will be a little longer! I haven't written it all yet, but I've got it all planned out on paper, and I promise not to abandon it. I'll try to upload the following chapters in regular intervals, probably every few days, depending on how much writing I get done in between. :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing, I get nothing.
> 
> Repost from ff.net.


End file.
